


The Rise of House Sigeweald: Book I

by elspethaurilie



Series: The Rise of House Sigeweald [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 113,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elspethaurilie/pseuds/elspethaurilie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elspeth Aurilie, born in exile and raised in Bruma, has been working toward her destiny her whole life. Will she find it in Skyrim? Perhaps. Book One has Elspeth searching Skyrim for someone from her family's past. </p><p>What she finds will amaze you.</p><p>No it won't. </p><p>This is not the Skyrim story I would have chosen to write. This is the one that insists on being written, despite my efforts to quash it.  And now I'm sharing it. This is the story formerly known as Elspeth's Epic Disaster. The first book starts several plot lines, but veers off on smaller quests, as all good wanderers do, with a single goal tying them all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Frostcraig Spire—7 Sun’s Dusk 4E190

_**Oio Naga, Mallari Arana** _

The language was Alyeid, the message Thalmor. There was no doubt in Evangeline’s mind as she sat clutching the note and the ring—all that had been recovered when Undilar and Irinde discovered the charred remains of Bedyn Sigeweald’s body.

When the shock abated and the feeling returned to her face and hands. When the uncontrollable sobbing and the ugly crying was over. When the wretched screaming was over. She turned to Xeri and simply asked, “Why?”

“You know why,” urged Xeri firmly but not without sympathy. Her heart ached for Evangeline, but this was no surprise.

“But why now? And what does this message mean? I thought Thalmor were more articulate than this.”

Xeri sat by Evangeline and touched her arm in a rare gesture of affection. She looked at the note, “It’s cryptic on purpose of course.” She did not want to have this conversation again. “They are just trying to hurt you. As for why now…all I can say is the world is changing. They can feel it. And it scares them.”

 

“I suppose it’s time to start this, no? I thought we’d have more time…I thought Bedyn and I would do this together. You don’t suppose they are trying to provoke me into doing something?"

Xeri almost laughed but caught herself, “Sera, I am almost certain that they are trying to provoke you into doing something. Something rash. But I know you better than that. Gather your strength. Bring your support here.” She paused and then said carefully, “And let me take Elspeth to start her journey.”

“I just don’t know if I’m ready…ready to let her go…so soon after losing him.”

“I know.”

Evangeline stood up suddenly and looked sternly at Xeri, “You said that in your vision, Elspeth had a role to play in the healing of the Empire. Doesn’t that mean she should stay here with me?”

Xeri took a deep breath. She looked at Evangeline—her face, normally the epitome of fierce stoicism, was frail. She shook her head and said, “I’m sorry.”

“She’s just a little girl.”

“She is more than a little girl. She’s exceptional.” And she was. Xeri had never known any human with such an aptitude for applied magic at such a young age. “She is a destruction magic prodigy. But she needs more formal training in the other schools. And in combat.”

“And you still have the same plan.”

“Yes,” Xeri said reassuringly, “We’ll move to Bruma and I will enroll her in the Temple school. I will help her hone her combat and athletic skills, utilizing the resources of the fighter’s guild as they are available.”

“And magic?”

“When she has exhausted the Temple curriculum, I will hire a mages guild tutor--or rather, College of Whispers or whichever group is holed up down there….” Xeri ‘s voice trailed off and she looked away.

“And then?”

“And then what?”

“Do you intend to send her to Arcane?”

“Evangeline…we’ve been over this.”

“No, we haven’t.” The thought of Xeri sending Elspeth to Arcane University enraged her. “You and Bedyn never discussed this with me. All I got were a lot of vague reassurances that you would take care of things. And I believed Bedyn because…because he was her father. And he trusted you.”

“And you don’t trust me?”

“I want to.”

“All right,” Xeri took a deep breath. “The truth is that Bedyn had every intention of allowing me to enroll Elspeth at Arcane if and when it was necessary. We both knew that you would feel betrayed by this.”

Evangeline looked away from Xeri. She drew her clutched fists to her chest and bit the inside of her mouth to keep from screaming.

Xeri continued, “But consider it from a strategic perspective. Arch-mage Relamus is a brilliant sorcerer.”

Evangeline spun around so fast she nearly fell over. “He’s a Thalmor puppet."

“He is. I haven’t forgotten. And Elspeth will know that too. However, he and his mages are excellent instructors. She would receive the best education and with me as a mentor—well, she won’t forget from where she came. And I will keep her focused on her path. She paused and then said, “You know that I can do this.” She looked knowingly at Evangeline.

Evangeline smiled in spite of herself. It was true. As a youth she knew that Bedyn had been fickle and irresponsible. Whatever greatness he had achieved in the fighter’s guild and later as a Blade was a result of Xeri’s strict mentorship.

“And most important,” continued Xeri, “No one would suspect, for even a moment, that any child of yours would study there.”

Evangeline lay down and stared at the ceiling from her bed. She was loath to admit it, but she knew Xeri was right. Finally she said, “Runa will be able to contact her family again. And Elspeth will meet children her own age. She could have real friends.” She was quiet for a long time. Xeri let her be and when she finally looked back she saw that there were tears in Evangeline’s eyes.

Xeri knelt by her, “I know you will miss her terribly.”

“I just wish…I wish Nerussa were here. She doesn’t know that Bedyn is dead. She doesn’t even know that Elspeth exists…all that history just…gone.”

Nerussa. Hers was a name that was rarely—if ever—spoken. Xeri was nonplussed for a moment and then all she could say was, “I’m so sorry, sera.”

Evangeline sat up very suddenly and began to smooth her dress down. “When will you leave?” Her voice was suddenly chipper.

“Tonight if you will allow. There are storms coming and I would like to arrive in Bruma at dawn."

The thought of saying good-bye to Elspeth that evening took Evangeline’s breath away but she was done protesting. She walked over to her dresser and took out a small box. Inside was a ring. It had been a gift to her from Anya, Bedyn’s mother. It had been years since she had worn it but it always held a special place in her heart.

She held the ring out to Xeri. “This is a ring that Bedyn’s mother gave to me when we were first married. It is enchanted so she’s not ready for it yet. But when she is, please give it to Elspeth.”

Xeri took the ring and inspected it carefully, “It is stunning. I will be honored to present her with this. Now, I will find Runa and the two of us will gather provisions for the trip.”

Evangeline walked slowly out of her room and over to the study where Elspeth as playing a very serious game of chess with Undilar. “Hello dear,” she said, trying not to cry. Or vomit, for that matter.

“Hello mother,” Elspeth smiled wanly. It was the first time she had seen Elspeth smile in several days. It helped. And then it didn’t.

Evangeline excused Undilar and sat down with Elspeth. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Elspeth, do you remember when Papa and I told you that you wouldn’t have to live at Frostcraig Spire forever, that you could go with Xeri to one of the cities and attend school.”

“Yes. You said that I would go to Cheydinhal and Papa said NO!—that I would go to Chorrol, the city of Stendarr,” Elspeth’s lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears at the memory of her father. She breathed in hard and asked, “Why?”

“It’s time. Xeri and Runa are going to take you out of Frostcraig Spire tonight.”

“Tonight!” Elspeth exclaimed, “But I don’t want to go tonight. Are you coming?”

“No sweet girl,” she said, trying not to let the sadness in her voice out, “I have to stay here.”

Elspeth burst into tears, “But I don’t want to go now!” She jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around Evangeline, sobbing into her chest.

Evangeline stroked her little girl’s hair and kissed her head. Even after Elspeth had settled down, she rocked her back and forth. They spent the next couple of hours talking and packing up a few things that Elspeth did not want to leave behind.

When it was time to go, they met Undilar and Irinde in the study and the four of them walked out to the village. Elspeth wasn’t even gone and already the Spire seemed quiet and dull. Evangeline felt that even the Dremora looked at little sad as Elspeth passed by them for what would probably be the last time.

The horses were ready and several more mages gathered around to say good-bye. The outpouring of affection held Evangeline up as she watched Runa, Xeri, and Elspeth ride out of the village.

*****

Runa and Xeri paused at the entrance of Frostcraig Village, just past the atronach guardians, and looked at the mountain path ahead. Elspeth was riding with Xeri who nudged her gently and said, “Elspeth, you know that you have to leave the name Sigeweald here, right?”

“Yes, mother told me.”

“Have you a new name picked out?” asked Runa, “Or would you just like to be Elspeth, as I am Runa?”

Elspeth smiled, “I would like to be Elspeth Aurilie.”

“Ah, that was your grandmother’s name,” said Runa, “it is a beautiful choice.”

“Well, Elspeth Aurilie,” said Xeri, “this is where your journey begins.”


	2. Deathcart

**Author note: T **he first couple of chapters follow game-play fairly closely. But following that, the story becomes more expansive and original. Thank you for taking a moment to read! ~e****

Elspeth felt the frigid air pierce her exposed skin as she slowly woke up. She tried to bring her hands up to her throbbing head, but the soldiers had bound her arms tightly, so she leaned forward, touched her forehead to her knees and let out a low groan. She looked at her clothes—tattered prison rags. Everything was covered with mud. The soldiers took everything—her sword, her weapons, her money.

From the other side of the cart she could hear someone talking to her. She looked over and saw a youngish blond Nord. His voice was warm and comforting. “Hey you,” he said, “you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there.”

“Damn you Stormcloaks,” complained the thief, “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you. I’d have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He turned to Elspeth and said, “You there, you and me, we shouldn’t be here; it’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

The horse thief’s voice was rough and it irritated her head. She gave the thief a hard look and said, “If I agree, will you please stop talking?” Then to the blond one she said, “I am not convinced that the horse thief is my preferred association.”

Ralof smiles, “What is your name?”

“Elspeth. You?”

“Ralof. Of Riverwood.”

The horse thief gestured to the man sitting next to Elspeth, “And what’s with him, huh?” The man was bound, but also gagged.

Ralof took offense to this inquiry and scolded him, “Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to the Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

Elspeth turned around to get a closer look. Ulfric Stormcloak? When she left Bruma, Torygg was the High King of Skyrim and Ulfric Stormcloak was a name that started many brawls back at the Tap and Tack. Elspeth tried to ask Ralof to clarify but was interrupted by the horse thief: “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm. You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they’ve captured you? Oh gods, where are they taking us?”

Ralof looked toward the direction the cart was heading and said calmly, “I don’t know where we’re going but Sovngard awaits.”

Elspeth takes a deep breath, “Not for some of us.” She looked at Ralof who gave her a sympathetic smile. “Somewhere in Aetherius then,” he said reassuringly.

Elspeth looked down at her bound wrists. She tried to cast, but the soldiers must have given her something to drain her Magicka. She closed her eyes. Was this really the end? She thought of Xeri and all those years of training that brought her to this point. This couldn’t be the end. She looked up. The horse thief was working himself up into a huge panic. She could hardly blame him but she really wanted him to shut up.

Ralof turned to him and asked, “Hey, what village are you from horse thief?” His voice had such a calming quality and she wished he keep talking to her, instead of encouraging the horse thief.

The horse thief was indignant, “Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

Elspeth tried to imagine what a Breton’s last thoughts should be. She thought of how disappointed Xeri would be with her. She thought of her mother and realized she couldn’t even recall how her mother would react to this predicament. She thought of her father and if he would recognize her now. She thought of Andil. She thought of Runa. A voice interrupted her thoughts, “General Tullius sir, the headsman is waiting.”

“Good, let’s get this over with,” another voice, General Tullius presumably, confirmed.

Elspeth knew her mother still had—if not support—then unspoken sympathy within the Legion. She had left her family’s name at Frostcraig over ten years ago and had vowed to Xeri that she would not speak it again, until it was safe to do so. But how was her secret keeping her safe now? And would this Tullius spare her anyway?

“Look at him,” Ralof was disgusted, “General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this”

Thalmor. Elspeth felt the sickening weight of her own mortality creep in.

“This is Helgen,” Ralof continued to talk. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilof is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

Ralof’s voice took the edge of the numbness that had settled in and she swallowed hard against the lump that was forming in her throat. Around them she could hear people gathering to watch, parents shooing their children back inside their homes. The carts pulled up near the center of town, where the headsman was, indeed, waiting. The Imperial soldiers were organizing the prisoners into lines and began calling their names. Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead.

When the horse thief heard his name he screamed, “No! I am not a rebel. You can’t do this,” and took off running and yelled, “You’re not gonna kill me.” It was a bold move and one immediately cut short by an arrow to his neck.

“You there!” The Imperial with the list called out, “Step forward. Who are you?”

“My name is Elspeth Aurilie. I’m from Cyrodill.”

“You picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, Elspeth.” He looked over his list and frowned, “Captain, what should we do? She’s not on the list”

“Forget the list! She goes to the block.”

“By your orders, captain. To whom should we send your remains?”

Xeri had given very specific instructions but this was surely not the introduction she and Runa had planned. She swallowed and croaked, “Lydia. In Whiterun.”

“Please follow the captain.” He paused and then said, “I’m very sorry.”

“I’ll bet,” Elspeth said sardonically as she moved toward the rest of the prisoners, catching Ralof smiling at her as she passed.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” the general addressed the rebel leader, “Some here in Helgen consider you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use the power of the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace.”

From the distance came a screech and a howl like nothing Elspeth had ever heard—or for that matter, felt. It wasn’t loud but it vibrated in her spine and rumbled in her head.

The next moments were a blur interrupted only by the THWACK of the executioner’s axe and her call to the block. She was pushed to her knees. As she turned her head she saw a large winged creature in the sky and felt that rumbling in her head again.

“WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?” Elspeth could hear General Tullius yelling. The executioner remained undeterred in his task but as he raised his axe the howls and roaring shook the ground and he lost his balance. And then Elspeth saw, clear as day, a dragon land on the tower right in front of her.


	3. Run for Your Life

Elspeth tried to stand up but the force of the Dragon’s roar pushed her down and she smacked the side of her head against the chopping block. "This is it," she thought and just as she was about to let herself collapse into the dirt, she felt a strong hand dragging her away. Ralof hollered at her as he pulled her up, “Elspeth, get up! The gods won’t give us another chance! This way!”

Without looking back, she ran and as she approached the tower, Ralof shoved her forward as he jumped inside and out of the way of a massive chunk of burning stone. Ulfric Stormcloak was there with some other Stormcloak soldiers.

“Jarl Ulfric!” Ralof exclaimed, “What is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages.”

“I think that one did,” interjected Elspeth.

Ulfric and Ralof both gave her puzzled looks but did not respond as the dragon started howling again. A soldier grabbed her arms and cut through her binds. She rubbed her wrists but before she could thank him Ulfric started barking orders, “We need to move now.”

They followed Ralof up the tower but before they made it even half way up the spiraling staircase the dragon’s head came crashing through the wall. She stumbled backward, grabbing at Ralof, who was crouching into the steps. He pushed her forward and they both ran up to inspect the hole.

Ralof looked her over and shouted, “Are you okay? Can you keep moving?”

“Yes!”

He turned around and pointed to what used to be the center of Helgen, “See that inn on the other side. Jump through the roof and keep going.”

She was nervous about the prospect of going alone and asked, “Are you coming with me?”

“Just go! We’ll follow when we can!”

Elspeth took a deep breath and jumped. She made her way through the inn and found a pair of Imperial soldiers coaxing a little boy to them as the dragon dropped to the ground. She held her breath and didn’t release it until the little boy made it into the arms of one of the men.

“Gods, everyone get back.” It was the soldier with the list. “Still alive Elspeth? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar.”

Elspeth followed Hadvar around the burning village. There were fires and stones and burning bodies and screaming villagers everywhere. Chaos reigned. For a moment Elspeth chuckled at the thought of a defense and wondered if she would find Ralof again.

“Stay close to the wall,” yelled Hadvar.

At that moment, the dragon swooped down. She felt the edge of its wing brush against her head and for some reason that frightened her more than anything else. She froze in her tracks, paralyzed with terror.

“Elspeth!” Hadvar had gotten ahead of her. She shook herself out of her fear-induced torpidity and when she caught up to him she could hear him yelling, “Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way.”

“Ralof!” Elspeth screamed. She was so very happy see him.

“We’re escaping Hadvar, you’re not stopping us this time.”

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngard. Come this way Elspeth!”

“Elspeth!” Ralof yelled, “Into the keep!”

She threw Hadvar a look of disgust and followed Ralof. Inside the keep she tried to catch her breath while he leaned over the body of a dead Stormcloak soldier.

“We’ll meet in Sovngard, brother.”

She looked around, unsure of what to say.

“That thing was a dragon,” said Ralof, “Just like the children’s stories and legends. The harbinger of the End Times.”

“If you say so. Where do we go now?”

“We’d better get moving. You should take Gunjar’s gear; he won’t be needing it anymore.”

Gunjar’s armor matched Ralof’s. She took his cuirass, boots, and gauntlets and put them on as fast as possible. Everything was much too big. Ralof looked at her and laughed.

“Let me help you with that.” He adjusted one of the straps and said, “That will have to do for now. My, but you are a tiny thing. Give his axe a few swings—and try not to fall over. I’m going to see if I can find a way out of here.”

Elspeth rolled her eyes and picked up Gunjar’s battle axe. Although she had considerable training with many weapons, the axe felt foreign and awkward in her hand—quite different from the sword to which she was so accustomed.

“Both gates are locked,” said Ralof.

“So, we’re trapped in here?”

"Could be, for now.”

They heard noises and shouting. Ralof turned to her, “It’s the Imperials, take cover!”

Ralof and Elspeth crouched just outside of the door and Ralof attacked the first soldier to come through: “Death to the Empire!” The second soldier went to help and Elspeth attacked him from behind. Ralof took care of the first and darted over to her. He was surprised to see her cut down the second soldier quickly and easily.

“Well, would you look at that? That’s quite an arm you’ve got there.”

They took what they could from the soldiers, including the captain’s sword, which was far more comfortable and familiar in Elspeth’s hand. They moved through the keep and found the storage room, which was a veritable treasure trove of potions and other supplies. Elspeth grabbed a satchel and filled it with elixirs for health, stamina, and magicka. She drank one of those and felt her casting energy return. She took lock picks, bandaging cloth, healing balm, and even some apples. And best of all, in the armory closet, she found a pair of boots that fit. She wasn’t thrilled to be wearing Legion armor, but it would be worth it to be able run without clunky oversized boots slowing her down.

They continued to make their way through the keep. In a torture room they rescued a couple of Stormcloak soldiers, Ólena and Holti. For a while it looked like the Imperials had cleared out until they reached the entrance to a large open room, where at least 15 Imperials had gathered. Panic settled into Ólena’s face as she whispered, “We can’t take them all.”

Ralof and Holti tried to come up with a strategy. It did look hopeless. Elspeth pushed her way past Ralof and looked into the room. She scanned the floor and walls, ignoring the soldiers. When she saw what she was looking for she smiled and turned toward Ralof and the others and whispered, “Get back!”

Ólena and Holti stepped back but Ralof was reluctant, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Ralof, shut up and get back. I’ll take care of this. I’ve got a spell—”

“If you think I’m going to let you do something stupid—”

“Fine, don’t get back.” Elspeth darted back to the door with Ralof at her heels. With her left hand she cast, in rapid succession, a series of fireballs toward the floor where she had spotted a puddle of lantern oil and then around the rest of the room. The room lit up and exploded. Elspeth, however, didn’t watch; she turned around and pushed Ralof to the ground, covering him as best as she could.

She pulled him up, “Are you okay? Did you get burned?”

Ralof just looked at her wide-eyed and speechless.

“Come on!” said Ólena and the four of them pushed through the room, trying to avoid the smoldering bodies and looking for a way out through the lingering smoke. Ralof ran ahead and found a drawbridge handle and called over to them, “Let’s see where this goes.” As he and Elspeth made their way across the bridge, they heard the dragon howling and screeching again and suddenly the wall around the bridge collapsed.

“Damn,” said Ralof, “That dragon doesn’t give up easy.”

“Legends seldom do,” said Elspeth. “Well, we’re not going back that way now. What about the others?”

“They’ll have to find another way,” said Ralof, “we’d better push on.”

The bridge led to an enormous cave. They kept running, cave was fairly well lit from above but they took many wrong turns along the way. Elspeth’s optimism and energy were starting to fade rapidly when they turned a corner and found a brightly lit path.

Ralof clapped her on the back, “That looks like the way out. I knew we’d make it. Let’s go.” His enthusiasm was almost child-like and it made Elspeth smile

The end of the path opened into a beautiful forested area. The air was cool and Elspeth saw snow on the mountain caps to the north. She gasped in delight.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” And it was. This. This was the Skyrim of Runa’s stories.

“Wait!” She shouted. She felt that now very familiar rumble. They looked up to see the dragon flying off into the distance.

"It looks like he's gone for good this time," said Ralof.

Elsepth had a feeling that "gone for good" was not quite accurate, but they were safe for now. She breathed cool air in deeply and with her energy renewed skipped forward, following Ralof down the path.


	4. Through the Park, by the Tree

“I need to get to Whiterun.”

“You’ll want to change your armor if you’re heading that way,” Ralof advised.  “My sister runs the mill up in Riverwood.  I’m sure she’ll help you out.”

“Are you hungry?”  Elspeth was rummaging through her satchel.  The stamina elixers had replenished her energy somewhat, but did nothing for the severe hunger pangs that were sticking her in the gut.

“Hungry?” asked Ralof, “Sure, I guess.  Do you have more stamina elixir?”

“Better.  I have apples.”  She said as she held one out to him, “I took them from the keep.”

Ralof took the apple and smiled warmly, “You’re pretty resourceful, aren’t you?”

“Well, I try.”

“You did good Elspeth.  Very good.”

“Thank you.  Is Riverwood far?”

“Not too far, it’s right on this road.  If we hurry, we’ll get there tonight.”

But they didn’t hurry and not for lack of trying.  Both had underestimated how exhausted and weary they were and every time they tried running along, they keeled over, gasping, and gagging within moments.  Finally, they settled down to a slow but even pace.  The journey would take them time twice as long as Ralof anticipated, but he kept her alert with stories.  He told her how Ulfric bested High King Torygg in a duel fought in the traditional “old Nord way,” which gave him a legitimate claim to the throne.  He talked about his family and how they had founded Riverwood many generations ago.  He didn’t ask her a lot of questions, which was nice.

As they walked along he showed her various landmarks, including the Guardian Stones, three of the ancient, magic stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape: the Thief Stone, the Mage Stone, and the Warrior Stone.  Ralof urged her to touch and activate one.  She was not unfamiliar with such stones; Cyrodill had plenty of Doomstones and Runestones.  Those were familiar.  Magic in Skyrim, however, was new to her and she approached the stones with nervous anticipation.

As she moved closer to them she could feel vibration and hear humming—each stone had a unique sound and quiver as they drew in and dispersed the very essence of magic from within and throughout the atmosphere.  Indeed, these were powerful stones.  She examined each stone carefully.  “I’ve been training to be a battlemage since I was 10 years old.”

“Started young.  That explains a lot,” Ralof said, clearly impressed.

She paused at the Mage stone.  “I’m a Breton.  The magic, it’s in our blood, you know?  It should be an obvious choice.  But after what we saw today, I think this is the one,” she turned to the Warrior Stone and activated it.  Bright light from the stone shot into the sky and Elspeth felt increased strength in her blood.

“Warrior, good!” said Ralof, “Those stars will guide you to honor and glory.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m really glad you decided to come with me, Elspeth,” said Ralof.  His tone was slightly less lighthearted and more serious now.

“I’m glad I came with you too,” she said.  His comment warmed her heart but not wanting to become weepy, she turned to more pragmatic matters.  “I am not convinced the Imperials wouldn’t have arrested me again had I gone with Hadvar.”

“I don’t understand why they arrested you in the first place.  You were just _passing through_ after crossing the border.  Really?”  Ralof sounded skeptical.

“I was trying to avoid getting hurt.  Maybe they thought I was spying?  Anyway, some soldier grabbed me from behind.   I couldn’t see and I turned around and hit him.   I doubt I did much damage though.  That’s all I remember.   Then I woke up in rags.  They took everything.  My sword.  My money.  My armor.  Maybe they didn't want witnesses.  But they brought us to Helgen for a public execution so I just....I just don't know."  She really wanted to stop thinking about it.  Nothing the Empire did made sense to her anyway.

“Thugs.”  The anger in Ralof’s voice was clear, although he seemed to be making an attempt to keep it behind his clenched teeth.  "All of them."

Elspeth understood but really hated seeing anger in his otherwise gentle face, so she kept talking, “I really liked that armor.  And now I’m stuck in a land full of giant people, where they probably don’t even _make_ armor in my size.  I’m going to have to find some little girl who will trade her armor for a taffy treat.”

Ralof laughed in spite of himself and they walked along some more, now in a weary but comfortable silence.  The sun was rising and when they reached Riverwood morning had broken completely.  The town was quiet and the residents were going about their business as if unaware of the havoc that was wrecked in the adjacent hold the day before.  Ralof approached a slender woman coming down the road.

“Gerdur!” he called out to her.

“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you.  But is it safe for you to be here?”  She sounded terrified.

“Gerdur, I’m fine.  At least for now.”

“Are you hurt?  What happened?”  She turned to Elspeth and asked, “And who is this?  One of your comrades?”

“Not a comrade yet, but a friend.  I owe her my life, in fact.  This is Elspeth.”

Elspeth smiled at Gerdur, “I am so pleased to meet you and would not be here either, if not for your brother.”

Ralof suggested talking somewhere private and they made their way off the road to a small clearing by the river, out from eyeshot of the center of town.  Gerdur collected her husband, Hod, along the way and a young boy came bounding after them.

“Uncle Ralof!  Can I see your axe?  How many Imperials have you killed?  Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?”

Ralof chuckled at his young nephew while Gerdur instructed her son to stay by the road and alert them of any imperials.  Elspeth and Ralof sat down on a tree trunk.  While Ralof filled his sister in on the previous days’ events, Elspeth struggled to keep her eyes open.  Finally, she let herself lean over onto his shoulder to doze as he described the ambush.

“….and that was two days ago.”

Elspeth shot up suddenly and interjected, “The ambush was two days ago?  Are you joking?”

“No.  Elspeth, what’s wrong?”

“So, how long was I out?!?” Elspeth felt sick.  She covered her face and lay down on the stump.  Gurder and Hod looked at each other and then at Ralof, who touched Elspeth on the shoulder and asked quietly, “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  But she really wasn’t.  The magnitude of what she had been through was starting to sink in.  She felt her eyes fill with tears and she did not want to cry in front of everyone.  “Please…just let me lie here for a moment.”

“Well okay….,” said Ralof.  He continued to tell the story of Ulfric’s capture and execution attempt.  The disgust that Gerdur displayed with respect to the Imperials was somehow reassuring and cheered Elspeth up—or at least, kept her from bursting into tears.  By the time Ralof got to the dragon attack, Elspeth was feeling a little better.

Gerdur and Hod were more than happy to let Ralof and Elspeth stay in their home.  Gerdur asked Elspeth if she wouldn’t mind taking a message to the Jarl requesting guards since Riverwood was currently defenseless against a dragon.  She even offered a cuirass for Elspeth to wear, instead of the Stormcloak armor.  At this point, Elspeth was so overwhelmed by their kindness and generosity that she was happy to do anything for them.  She stood up to thank them and was so tired and weary that she fell forward.   Hod helped her up and she smiled wanly at him and at Gerdur.

“You need to eat something,” said Hod, who was quite concerned about Elspeth’s condition at this point.  He led them to their home and Ralof said to Elspeth, “I told you my sister would help us.”

“She’s lovely.  Ralof, I feel terrible.”

“You’ll feel better with some food in you,” said Hod, “What brings you to Skyrim, Elspeth?”

“I was hired by some fat-cat noble to find someone to help settle a property issue in Kvatch.  The last location I have for him is Winterhold.”  This was huge lie.  Her "story" was supposed to be simple and unremarkable.  She continued, “I’ll be heading up there soon, but I’ve a friend I’m meeting in Whiterun first.”  At least that was true.

“You should come to Windhelm when you’re done with that and join the fight to free Skyrim.  You saw the true face of the Empire”

Elspeth smirked and said, “I’ll give it some thought.”  Although she had no intention of joining any rebellion, she began to realize that she would, in fact, be giving Skyrim’s civil war a lot of thought.

When they arrived at Gerdur and Hod’s home, Elspeth became painfully aware of how dirty she looked.  “Is there a tap?” she asked, “I really need to wash.”

“Yes, you do!” agreed Ralof.

Hod scowled at him and directed her to an attached wash room in the back.

When she returned to the dining area, Ralof was drinking something and Hod was heating food in the cooking pot.  He handed her a bottle of mead.

“Ah,” said Ralof, “That’s better.”

“Such a pretty face!” exclaimed Hod.

“For a Breton.”

Elspeth playfully punched Ralof in the arm and sat down.  She started to count the coin she looted from the soldiers and offered half to Ralof who shook his head and whispered, “My sister will give me enough coin to get back to Windhelm.  Keep it.  You’ll need it.”

They devoured the stew and went through several bottles of mead.  “Help yourself to more if you’d like,” Hod offered.  “Elspeth, you should sleep.   You look really run down.”  He sounded genuinely concerned.

“I can’t.  If I lie down I am going to sleep for another two days and you’re not going to be able to wake me up.  If you want me to speak to the Jarl, I’ll need to leave soon.”

“Very well.  Let me get you some things.”  He left and returned with a leather cuirass and some food wrapped in paper.  “This is some old armor we have.  No one wears it here—well Frodnar when he’s playing warrior games—so keep it as long as you need.  And here’s some extra food for your trip.”  
“Thank you…thank you so much,” Elspeth was, again, struggling not to cry.

“I’m going to head back to the mill.  Elspeth, keep the key to the house and stop in if you need a place.”

She smiled, “I will.”  She took the cuirass to the back of the room and quickly changed out of the Stormcloak armor.  Truth be told, regardless of her stance on Skyrim’s political problems, she was a little sad to remove it.  Taking it off and laying it on the floor, she felt as if she was losing something—in particular, the fellowship she’d found with Ralof.  She knew that wasn’t true, that the bonds of friendship that were meant to last were made of tougher stuff.  But it still didn’t feel good.   She returned to him and said, “Well this is better.   Ralof, I need to leave now.  If I don’t, I won’t have the energy later.”

“Well okay.”  He stood up and smiled, “Thank you again.  I am serious when I say that I owe you my life.  I hope to see you in Windhelm.  You are a very capable fighter and I will vouch for you any time.”  He put out his hand.

Elspeth looked at his outstretched hand and then back up at him.  As she threw her arms around him, she wondered if she would ever see another face as sweet as his in all of Skyrim, “Oh gods Ralof, I have no idea what to say to you.”

Ralof laughed and hugged her tightly, “Well, say nothing now and find me in Windhelm when you figure it out.”  He kissed her on the cheek, “Good-bye tiny warrior.  Talos guide you.”

“Until we meet again, Ralof,” she whispered.


	5. Analepsis A

“Tell me again why I should turn one of my court’s housecarls over to you.”

“I believe the details were outlined in the correspondence you received.”

“They were.  And now I want you to hear it from you.” Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had been so very pleased to hear from Runa, a woman whose family’s history in Whiterun rivaled those of the Great Clans Battle-Born and Grey Mane.  He did not, however, trust the Dunmer woman who came to confirm the request.  Although, he might have felt slightly more generous if her follow up had not come on the same day he received yet another request from General Tullius to garrison Imperial soldiers in his hold.

Xeri took a deep breath, “I am releasing one of my charges to Skyrim shortly.  Her task here could be quite dangerous.  And this is a young woman who hasn’t known much more in her life than a rigorous training and academic schedule.  I’d like her to have someone who can help her navigate customs, culture, and,” she paused for a moment, “politics.”

“Huh. And this _individual_ she is looking for is not a criminal, right?  This doesn’t involve a bounty, does it?  If it does, I can make a lot of trouble for you, and this charge of yours.”

“This individual is most certainly not a criminal,” said Xeri, reassuringly.

Balgruuf turned to his steward and said, “Proventus, what is your opinion of this request?”

Proventus looked carefully at Xeri, “I don’t think you should rush into a decision, my lord.  I can only advise caution….”

“Right.  And what about you, Irileth?” said Balgruuf to his own housecarl.

Whatever Dunmeri solidarity Xeri hoped to achieve with Irileth was quickly quashed: “I think it’s a terrible idea.  We cannot afford to lose good fighters, especially now.”  She glared at Xeri with an intensity she hoped would force her out of and away from Dragonsreach forever.   Then she asked, “Are there are no other warriors in all of Skyrim you could hire for this?”

“I need someone I can trust.  This charge is family.”  However, the notion of leaving Dragonsreach and heading over to Jorrvaskr to meet the Companions was starting to appeal to her.

The room was quiet for a moment.  Balgruuf was shifting in his throne now, his agitation obvious, and asked, “You raised this girl?”

Xeri couldn’t tell if she was wearing him down or making him angry so she considered this question carefully, believing that it might make a difference, “Runa raised her.  I merely trained her.”

“Indeed,” Balgruuf said, “And Lydia, how do you feel about this?”  His voice was noticeably softer when he addressed her.

“I am bound to your service, my Jarl,” she responded, “But, as this is a matter of familial duty, it is one I am feeling compelled to fulfill.”

“I understand that.  Your family has a long history in Whiterun.  I would be remiss in my duty as a Nord to deny this request, even if, as Jarl, I must take care not to lose valued members of the court.”  He let out a sigh and said, “Very well, Lydia, I release you from your duties as housecarl.  When the task at hand is complete, and as long as you and Runa’s charge maintain the integrity of this court, I will welcome you back to my service.”

“Of course, my Jarl,” said Lydia.

Xeri spoke up, “She won’t be any trouble.  And perhaps one day, she will be of some use to you.”

“It would probably be best if she just went about her business quickly and quietly.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have a city to keep.”

“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf,” Xeri said and nodded as she and Lydia quietly turned and left Dragonsreach.  
  
Outside they walked quietly through the marketplace back to Breezehome.  Once they were safely inside the house Xeri said, “I didn’t think it would be that difficult.  Runa said that Balgruuf was fair and of good humor.”

“He is.”  Lydia put some water in the kettle and sat down at the table opposite of Xeri.  She continued, “He never had any intention of denying the request.  My mother caught all of his babies and saved the youngest one’s life when he was just a wee bairn.  He’s always felt beholden to my family.  And Runa was, or for that matter, _is_ well liked and respected in Whiterun.”

“I don’t understand then, why he felt the need to scrutinize us—me, so heavily.”

“That wasn't heavy.  At least, not for him.  For one thing, he didn't require that you divulge any information on the so-called quest."

"I suppose.  He was irritable, however."

"Skyrim’s civil war has been intensifying and the political situation is delicate.  The Empire has been putting a lot of pressure on him.  They want to station Legionnaires but he doesn’t want to give the impression of martial law or do anything that might provoke Jarl Ulfric.”  Lydia stood up to prepare the tea.  “It hasn’t been easy for him.”  She paused and said, “I’m sure he feels compelled to assert authority wherever he can.”  She considered her next statement carefully, “You, of all people, should understand that.”  She handed Xeri a cup of tea.

Xeri sipped her tea quietly.  “Yes,” she agreed, “I do understand.”  She looked around Breezehome and smiled.  It was a small house but it felt warm and safe and, most important, it felt like a home.  After a few moments she asked, “Did you really save all of Runa’s correspondence?”

“I did.”  Lydia went to a small room off to the side and returned with a stack of letters, which she handed to Xeri.

“Do you mind?” Xeri asked.

“Not at all.”

For the next couple of hours Xeri pored over Runa’s letters, smiling and making occasional comments such as “brilliant” and “lovely,” under her breath.  When she finished she looked at Lydia, “Everything is in here.  She just changed a couple of names and locations.  It is as if she had a strategy in mind from the beginning.  Who knew that she was such a tactical genius?”

“I am sure she just wanted to keep everyone safe while maintaining contact with us.”

“Of course.  Still, the details of these letters are just, well…anyway, I don’t think there is anything I need to tell you that you don’t already know.  Do you have any questions for me?”

“With all due respect Xeri, if Elspeth has been training for so long, why does she need me to protect her?”

Xeri sighed and looked into her empty tea cup, “It's not protection she needs...."


	6. Locked Toward the Future

She should have taken a nap.

To be sure, the journey to Whiterun started well enough.  The food and rest at Gurder and Hod’s had energized her and after she stocked up on elixirs at the Riverwood Trader she made her way up the north road.  The weather was clear and cool and she walked steadily, knowing she had to make good time but not wear herself down.  Indeed, it wasn’t long before she felt weary but she pressed on, quietly singing to distract from the pain in her legs and the heavy feeling in her chest.

_Aw! Come now, I'll sing you a song,_  
'Tis a song of right merry intent,  
Concerning a silly old man,  
Who went for to pay his rent,  
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo. 

 

__She heard the wolves before she saw them and guessed, correctly, that there were three.  It had been a long time since a pack of wolves had given her trouble.   Bears and saber cats could sometimes be a challenge—particularly if they took her by surprise.  But she was not surprised, she was exhausted and it took her longer than usual to kill them.  In the end she was heavily scratched and the last one bit her on the arm before she was able to stick him in the throat.

_And as this here silly old man,_  
Was riding along the lane,  
A Gentleman thief overtook him,  
Saying 'Well over-taken old man.' 

__The bite on her arm was easily healed with a spell but the attack had taken a lot out of her.  Her muscles were quivering and before long, she was literally crawling on her hands and knees along the road—exhausted but still determined in her quest.  She had gone through the bread and cheese that Hod had packed for her and three full bottles of stamina elixir before she realized that she was likely too far gone for potions and food.  She needed sleep and she needed it now.  She pushed along until she found a small patch of grass just off the road.  She lay down and curled her knees up to her chest and continued to sing quietly:

_And as this here silly old man,_  
Was riding along the lane,  
A Gentleman thief overtook him,  
Saying 'Well— 

__When she heard voices coming up the road she gasped and immediately stopped singing and shut her eyes, cursing the gods that she had not learned more illusion spells.  If they didn’t look downward, they might not see her.

“So why'd you join the Legion?”

“My father was a Legionnaire, and his before him. I guess I never considered doing anything else.”

Their voices lowered to murmuring but Elspeth could hear them shuffling around very close.  Then she felt the brunt of a boot softly nudging her leg.  She opened her eyes slowly.  Three legionnaires and a Stormcloak prisoner were standing in front of her.  Elspeth craned her neck to see if the prisoner was Ralof.  When she saw that it wasn’t, she breathed a sigh of relief and put her head back down.

“Svend, she seems to be alive.  Can we get moving now?  If we’re late to the camp the legate’s gonna have our asses on the spit roast tonight.”

The soldier who had nudged her leg knelt by her and asked if she was okay.  As she shook her head no, he looked her over.  When he saw the standard leather armor, the legion issued boots, and the bracers that looked suspiciously identical to the ones being worn by their prisoner, he paused and then said to his comrades, “Go ahead.  I’ll catch up.”

The soldier concerned about the spit roast frowned and reiterated that their orders were to return with the prisoner together.  Svend was unmoved by this and said, “I think my oath as a healer trumps my Legion orders.”

The third soldier laughed, “A couple of lessons at the temple and he reckons himself a healer.”

Spit roast continued to glare, but Svend remained undeterred.  Finally, after a few moments, the other soldiers left without further comment.  Svend sat Elspeth up and asked where she was hurt.  When Elspeth tried to respond, she found it difficult to move her mouth—her jaw muscles had also weakened.  She shook her head and tried to lie back down but he wouldn’t let her.

“Hey,” he said, “stay with me.  Were you bitten or scratched by a wolf?”

Elspeth nodded her head and gestured to her arm, which, although mostly healed, was still caked with blood.

“You have rockjoint,” he said and dug into his bag.  He offered her a bottle of cure disease elixir.  She took the bottle but she was so weak that he had to open and administer it for her.  After a few moments she could feel her strength recovering.  Svend helped her up and eased her back on to the road.

“Were you headed to Whiterun?” he asked.  He was still holding on to her arm.

Elspeth was frightened.  His grip was firm, but not hard.  Did he intend to lead her to his camp or merely see her back on her way?  She thought of pulling away but she was far too weak still to run or fight if his intent was to arrest her.   She looked up at him, searching for something in his face that would either put her mind at ease or prepare her for something awful.  She found neither.  His face was emblematic of Nord stoicism, which was only reinforced by the Legion armor.

“Were you headed to Whiterun?” he asked again.  His tone was moving from concern to impatience.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry, I was just…I’m very tired.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said, smirking, which put her at ease somewhat.  “Whiterun isn’t far.  Come with me, I will walk you to the bridge by Honningbrew Meadery.  You can see Whiterun from there.”

Elspeth bowed her head in thanks; at this point a smile was entirely too much effort.  Svend, unlike Ralof, was not a talker and the silence aggravated the pain in her body, which was inching closer and closer to unbearable.   She continued with her song:

_What well over-taken, do'y say?'_  
'Yes well over-taken' quoth he.  
'No, no' said the silly old man  
'I don't want thy company.' 

__Svend looked at her and shook his head.  She ignored him.  As a child, both Runa and Xeri insisted on teaching her music in addition to magic, combat, and academics.  For a long time Elspeth believed that this was merely an attempt by Runa to broaden her interests and give her something other than her battlemage training on which to focus.  Later, when Xeri left her alone for the first time in the Jerall mountains, Elspeth understood that singing was no mere distraction from her usual training fare.  For a long time, the songs were the only things that sustained her on those long treks through the mountains.  And she knew so many:  Colovian romance ballads, drinking songs from Bruma, Nibenay Valley folk songs.  And when stealth was needed, she could always play Alik'rian war chants over and over in her head.

Soon enough they turned a corner and Elspeth saw a large building on her left near a bridge.  There were several men wearing what appeared to be Stormcloak armor but with yellow sashes.  Svend waved one of them over and asked if someone would be heading to town.  And within a few moments she found herself in the company of Toki, one of Whiterun’s guards.  He was very happy to be off duty and all the more excited now to be walking with “a very pretty lady.”  He had a large, toothy grin and seemed friendly, but apart from that initial compliment, he was not terribly talkative.  However, when Elspeth began to sing, his face lit up and he joined her in several rousing verses.

_He that will not merry, merry be_  
With a gen'rous bowl and toast,  
May he in Bruma be shut up  
And bound unto a post.  
Let him be merry, merry there  
And we will be merry, merry here  
For who can know where we may go  
To be merry another year, brave boys,  
To be merry another year. 

__It was dark when they reached Whiterun; Toki the Guard directed her to Breezehome and as she approached, it was all she could do not to collapse at the door.  She knocked and almost immediately the door opened and a stunning raven-haired woman answered. “Hello!” she exclaimed, “You must be Elspeth. Come in! I’m Lydia. I was starting to think you weren’t going to arrive.”

“Thank you, you weren’t the only one.”

“You look so tired.  Let me get you some tea.”  Lydia guided Elspeth toward the chairs.  “Are you hurt?”

“A little, yeah.”

Lydia scrambled about and poured a cup of tea.  She handed it to Elspeth who grasped it and immediately took a gulp of the scalding liquid.  She looked around.  The house was warm and comfortable, much like Runa.

Lydia took the chair next to her, “Are you hungry?”

“I’m everything.  I need to eat.  I need to sleep.  I need to see the Jarl.”

“The Jarl?”

“I need to ask him to send guards to Riverwood.”

“Is there a problem in Riverwood?”

“A dragon attacked Helgen and they are defenseless.”

“A dragon?” Lydia’s eyes grew wide.  “A real dragon?”

“I saw it with my own two eyes,” Elspeth confirmed.

“Well, I’ll take you to Dragonsreach right away.  Let’s go.”

Together they left Breezehome and made their way across town to Dragonsreach, the home of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.  The ornate wooden palace astonished Elspeth and she found it somehow both grand and welcoming.  She had spent time in Castle Bruma but was never impressed by its stone features, which always struck her as cold and inhospitable.  But here she was awed by the tall, wooden curves and felt taken in by the warm fire that burned between the long tables that flanked the throne room.

Before they reached the Jarl, a Dunmer woman approached them and said sternly, “Lydia!  What is the meaning of this interruption,” and then gesturing toward Elspeth, “the Jarl is not receiving visitors.”

“Irileth, this is Elspeth, she has information about a dragon attack in Helgen and a request from Riverwood,” explained Lydia.

Irileth turned to Elspeth, “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all the dangers to the Jarl and his people.  So, you have my attention.  Now, explain yourself.”

“On my way through Helgen, a dragon attacked and destroyed it.   I made it out and was directed to Riverwood, where I was asked to come here and request protection from the Jarl.”

“You we were in Helgen when it was attacked?  The Jarl will want speak to you personally.  Approach.”  Irileth turned to the Jarl, “Jarl Balgruuf, this is Elspeth.  She has information from Helgen and Riverwood.”

“So,” said Balgruuf, “You saw this dragon?”

“Yes.  The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak.  Then the dragon attacked.”

“By Ysmir, Irileth was right,” exclaimed Blagruuf, “tell me more!”

“There isn’t much to tell, really.  The dragon completely destroyed Helgen.  It was chaos.  I only remember running.  A bunch of soldiers tried to escape through the keep, but only two of us made it out.”  Elspeth hesitated at this but continued, “I don’t remember the other soldier’s name but he pointed me to Riverwood.  I met a woman named Gerdur there and her husband.  They asked that I bring a request for protection.”  It stung Elspeth’s heart to lie about her friend, but guessed it was probably better not to divulge his name or his status as a Stormcloak.

Balgruuf turned to his steward and said harshly, “What do you say now?  Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls against a dragon?”

“My lord,” said Irileth, “we should send troops to Riverwood at once.  It’s in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains….”

The steward interjected, “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as provocation.  He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him.  We should not….”

“Enough!” said Balgruuf, “I’ll not stand by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people.  Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once!”

Irileth nodded and said, “Yes my Jarl.”

The steward’s stance perplexed Elspeth.  Why on Nirn would sending guards after a _dragon attack_ be viewed as a provocation?  She looked over toward Proventus and asked, “Isn't Helgen part of Falkreath hold?”

“Yes, it is.  Why?”  He looked at her quizzically.

Elspeth turned to Balgruuf, “If the Jarl views your troops as a provocation after one of his towns was just leveled by a dragon…” she paused and continued, “maybe you should attack him on principle.”

Behind her Lydia was cringing.  That must be what Xeri was talking about.

Much to Lydia’s relief, however, Balgruuf gave a hearty laugh and said, “I like this one.  You don't stand on ceremony, do you?”

Elspeth smirked, “Not on so little sleep,” she said, and then apologetically, “I meant no disrespect.”

Balgruuf smiled and waved her apology away and said, “Thank you for coming to me.  You’ve done Whiterun a service and I won’t forget it.  Proventus will provide you with recompense for your work.  Will you be in the city for long?  I may want to call upon you again, for details on the dragon attack.”

“Of course.  I will be in the city for several days at least.”

Proventus brought Elspeth some coin and put her name and skill class in his register.   When that was taken care of, she and Lydia turned and left Dragonsreach.

“So,” said Irileth after they were out of earshot, “that is Runa’s charge.   I’m impressed she made it out of Helgen alive.  What do you think my lord?”

Balgruuf cocked his head and replied, “I thought she would be taller.”


	7. Root Down

“Well done!” said Lydia when they were outside of Dragonsreach, “Not even an hour in Whiterun and you’re already on the Jarl’s payroll.”

“Is that a good thing?”  Elspeth was skeptical although pleased to have made some coin.  Xeri had seemed unimpressed by Jarl Balgruuf, but then, Xeri was unimpressed by most people.

“Yes.  He’s a good Jarl, if overcautious at times.”  They walked down the steps toward the Gildergreen.  “Are you hungry or do you just want to go home and sleep?”

Elspeth considered this and wondered if it would be presumptuous to ask Lydia if she would feed her while she slept: “I’m exhausted.  But I know from experience that if I go to sleep this hungry, I’ll regret it.”

“We’ll go to the Bannered Mare,” said Lydia and gestured toward town.  “So, you were there when they were going to execute Ulfric Stormcloak?  Was that…exciting?”  Lydia’s eyes were wide with curiosity.

In the aftermath of having escaped a dragon as well the Imperial army's headsman, Elspeth hadn’t really considered the political significance of what she had experienced in Helgen or if anyone would care that she had sat next to Skyrim’s most divisive political figure on the way to his—nay, their—execution.  So, she thought about the question and wondered if exciting could possible describe her feelings—most of which, at this point, were not fully formed or understood.  Finally, she said, “Well, it wasn’t nearly as exciting as being there for my own execution.”

Lydia nodded along and then stopped suddenly, “Wait! What? Your execution?  What are you talking about?”

Elspeth turned and said, “I was there when they captured the Stormcloaks.  I was trying to stay out of the way but they arrested me too.  They didn’t ask me any questions.  They just took us all to the block.”

“Oh my goodness!” Lydia was shocked, “I’m so sorry.  Are you—I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m fine now.  Really.”  She wasn’t exactly fine but the look of distress on Lydia’s face was too much to bear.  “I should probably tell you that the soldier who helped me out of Riverwood was a Stormcloak.  I wouldn’t be alive if it hadn’t been for him.”  Elspeth looked away, unsure of how Lydia would react to this.  Runa hadn’t indicated Lydia’s political inclinations in their discussions but the impression she’d gotten from Gerdur was that Whiterun implicitly, if not explicitly, favored the Imperials.

“Of course!” She smiled warmly, “I’m just so glad you’re here—I’m grateful to anyone who helped you.”

Elspeth felt a sudden rush of relief upon hearing this.  As they walked along, Lydia indicated various houses in the city, in particular those of the clans Battle Born and Grey Mane, families with long, long histories in Whiterun.  They had been close friends for a long time and were now torn apart, having taken different sides in the war.  The Battle Borns favored the Imperials and the Grey Manes, the Stormcloaks.  As children, Lydia and their daughters, Alfhild Battle Born and Olfina Grey Mane, were inseparable.  When the division between the families became bitter, Lydia tried to maintain friendships with both.  However, since it had been the Battle Borns who took Lydia in after her mother died, she was closer to them.  And so Olfina pulled away.  It made her sad, although she used her position in Balgruuf’s court to maintain casual contact with the family—mostly through the family’s matriarch, Fralia.

When they arrived at the Bannered Mare, it was busy but not crowded.  Elspeth liked it immediately although she wasn’t particularly in the mood for revelry.  Lydia scanned the room and they were waved over by a couple sitting at a corner table—as if they were expected.

“Lydia!” exclaimed the woman who stood up hugged her after they’d made their way over.  “I was wondering if you would show up tonight.  Who is this?”

“This is Elspeth.  This is the woman I’ve been expecting.”  Lydia gestured to the couple, “Elspeth, this is Alfhild and Idolaf Battle Born.  Let’s sit.   Elspeth has been awake for two days.  She saw a dragon attack Helgen!”

Alfhild and Idolaf looked excited about this.  Idolaf was wearing an Imperial uniform and this made Elspeth uneasy, despite her somewhat pleasant experience with the imperial “healer” on her journey from Riverwood.  Alfhild started filling Lydia in on some town gossip, which Elspeth tried to follow—but she was so tired.  It was easier simply to look around at the various people and try to avoid making eye contact with Idolaf.  They were interrupted by a woman named Saadia who took their food orders: grilled salmon, braised cabbage, and ale for Alfhild, beef stew and mead for Idolaf and Lydia, and for Elspeth, a bowl of tomato soup, roasted leg of goat, a baked potato, grilled leeks, and mead.  The others were impressed.

“When did you last eat?” asked Lydia.

“I had some bread and cheese for lunch.  Before that, I had breakfast in Riverwood.”

“So Elspeth!” said Alfhild excitedly, “You saw the dragon?  We heard rumors of a dragon while working the farm earlier.”

“I did.  It destroyed Helgen.  It was pretty terrifying.”

Alfhild nodded.  She looked as if she wanted Elspeth to tell all but was holding back her enthusiasm.

“Wait,” said Idolaf.  He sounded confused about something.  “Lydia said that you were coming by way of Morrowind, through the Rift border to avoid all the problems around Pale Pass.”

“Yes…” said Elspeth, unsure of what he was getting at.

“How did you wind up in Helgen?”  He sounded genuinely perplexed, not suspicious.

“I took a wrong turn apparently,” explained Elspeth, trying not to sound as defensive as she was starting to feel.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.  I mean, if you were to stay on either main road you’d still hit either Riften or, if you went north, Shor’s Stone…before you wound up in Helgen.”

“So?” asked Lydia, also feeling a bit protective on Elspeth’s behalf.

“So, I just don’t understand how one would find herself all the way in Helgen before hitting a major town.”

“What difference does it make?” asked Lydia, hoping he would just stop talking.

“Elspeth doesn’t have to explain to you how she got here,” said Alfhild.  She turned to Elspeth, “Don’t mind my husband.  He’s incredibly nosy.”

“I’m not being nosy.  I just don’t understand how one would get all the way to Helgen just by taking a wrong turn.”  He turned to Elspeth, “Did you just pass right by Riften?”

“Idolaf!” said Lydia, now highly agitated. “She got lost.  And now she’s here.  That’s all that matters.”

“I was arrested,” said Elspeth.  She was entirely too exhausted to care.  And suddenly, all eyes were on her.  She looked toward Lydia who was shaking her head as if to say, ‘You don’t have to do this.’

“What?” asked Idolaf.

“I had just crossed the border and I heard fighting.  I hid to avoid a confrontation but some Imperial thu—soldier found me.   Then I found myself on the cart on the way to the chopping block with Ulfric Stormcloak and a bunch of his soldiers.”  Elspeth looked directly at Idolaf as she finished her story.  Telling it made her feel stronger somehow, even though it probably meant that would be branded a criminal from here on out.

Idolaf, however, was speechless.  He just stared at her.

Elspeth was not sure what she was expecting him to say, but his silence made her uneasy, so she continued, “They took my name and some other information.  Then they called me to the block and just as the headsman was about to take my head off, a dragon landed on the tower behind him.  One of the other prisoners helped me up and we ran.  We made our way through Helgen’s keep and he directed me to Riverwood.”

Idolaf covered his face with his hands. Both Alfhild and Lydia looked a little pale.

“Elspeth, I am so sorry you went through that,” he said, “and I would not blame you for hating the Imperial Army right now.”

She was surprised to see him acting so remorseful and suddenly felt an inexplicable need to reassure him, “I didn’t come here to get involved in the war.  I would like just to forget it.  And I’m sure the general has more to worry about than the fate of an unlucky traveler.”

Alfhild looked at Elspeth carefully and said, “I think that’s very generous of you Elspeth.”  She scorned at Idolaf, “The lot of you _legionnaires_ are brutes…will you never admit that?”

Idolaf shook his head and said, “War is…”

Alfhild scowled intensely as if to say, ‘Don’t you give me another one of your ‘War Is’ speeches!’

He stopped and sighed, “No, you’re right.  There is no excuse for this.  Again, I’m sorry.  I expect, however, that you will have no more trouble with the General.”

Elspeth offered him a weak smile, “I hope not.”

“I am so sick of this war,” said Alfhild, almost shouting now, “Jon had the right idea—enrolling in the Bard’s college instead of joining the legion.  How did the Imperials even set up an ambush in the Rift? That’s Stormcloak territory.”

All eyes were on Idolaf, who was bewildered at this question.   Then after a few moments, he raised his eyes and said, “Maven Black Briar.”

“Maven Black Briar?” asked Lydia.

“They must have staked out her lodge.”  He took a deep breath.  “And she probably had them remove whatever common rabble they found around the perimeter.”  He looked at Elspeth, his face full of guilt.

Elspeth was too tired to respond and it was uncomfortably quiet for a few moments until Saadia brought their food.  And then Elspeth thought of nothing but eating.  The table’s mood quickly relaxed and the others began to discuss the meaning of the dragon attack and chat about people around town.  Elspeth could barely hear them over the feeling of not being hungry any more.  And the food was delicious.  The tomato soup was probably one of the best things she’d ever put in her mouth.  And the mead.  Oh gods, the mead.

“Elspeth?”  Alfhild, who was smiling apprehensively, pulled her from her food-induced haze “My mother will probably want to invite you over soon.”  She paused and then, after frowning at her husband, said, “If you can stand the thought of dinner with Imperial supporters.”

Elspeth looked her and over to Lydia, but she was so tired that they appeared to be fading away.  “yesofcoursethat wo—” and she slumped forward, falling dead asleep just next to her empty dish.”  Lydia tried to rouse her gently, but she didn’t stir.

“Well!” said Idolaf as he gave some coin to Afhild, “Take this and pay Hulda.  I’ll help Lydia get Elspeth home.”

“Are you sure?” asked Lydia, “You always pay.”

“Because Lydia, it is always a pleasure to treat you to a nice dinner.”  He smiled and lifted Elspeth up out of her seat.  “Oh my gods,” he exclaimed, “Even with her armor, she weighs about two pounds.”

Afhild and Lydia said their good-byes and she and Idolaf left and walked back to Breezehome. When they arrived, he brought her up to her room and left while Lydia dressed her in a nightshirt and tucked her in.

Back downstairs Idolaf was sitting at the table, “She is not what I was expecting.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Exactly what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, someone more warrior-like.  You said she started training as a little girl.”

“She did.  Remember she’s going on several days without much food or sleep.”

“Yeah, maybe she’ll seem a little more spry tomorrow.”  Idolaf paused for a moment and said, “Then again, she survived Helgen.”

“Yes.”  Lydia wanted him to leave, but as he had been a semi-permanent fixture in her life and home since she was a child she had no idea how to make that happen.

There was a long pause.  There had never been anything remotely resembling discomfort between Lydia and Idolaf before.  Now there was tension.  Finally, Idolaf broke the silence, “I feel terrible about this.”

Lydia had paused, a kettle in hand, “Whatever for?”  Her tone was sarcastic, but she was sincerely curious.  Idolaf didn't really do guilt.  She put the kettle down, deciding against tea. Perhaps he would get the hint and leave.

He took a deep breath, “I’m sure I don’t need to reassure you that the arrest was a mistake.”

“No.”  Lydia turned and asked sternly, “Do you need to reassure yourself?”  She looked at him intently.

He sighed.  “No.  Collateral damage happens.  It’s just—”

“It’s just what?  Is it just _unfortunate_ when you have to look collateral damage in the face and apologize?  And buy her dinner?”  Lydia was furious.   And then, frustrated.  She sat at the table and put her head down.  “This is exactly what I am supposed to prevent.”  For the first time in a long time Lydia was feeling insecure,  “I don’t think I can do this.”

“There isn’t anything you could have done.”  He paused and continued, “And I’m not sure what you are worried about.  If there is anyone in Skryim who can help with her quest, it’s you.”  Idolaf was confused.  This was not the self-assured housecarl he knew.  Why was she so anxious?

Lydia saw the look of bewilderment on his face and realized that she needed to get herself together.  The weight of her responsibilities was bearing down on her hard and these moments of doubt could ruin everything if she wasn’t careful.  Unbeknownst to everyone in Skyrim, the daughter of one of Cyrodill’s most controversial champions was upstairs sleeping and it was her job to help her.  And she would do it, and do it with confidence—whether she felt it or not.  “You’re right!” said Lydia, suddenly enthusiastic, “I’m sorry.  I was worried when she was late and angry about the arrest.  Now, I’m going to bed.”

Idolaf was taken aback by Lydia’s sudden change in mood but as she seemed to be feeling better, thought it better not to press on.   After he left, Lydia anticipated that her anxiety would return but she actually felt a little better—as if keeping him and his Imperial politics away would give her some clarity.  She went upstairs and looked toward the dark room where Elspeth was sleeping and smiled.   All right.  She was here.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow she would figure out how to keep Skyrim's distractions away.


	8. Walk that Mile

Elspeth woke up slowly and peered up from the pillow.  The room was unfamiliar but she was so comfortable she couldn’t be bothered to feel anxious.  She pulled herself back under the covers and stretched as she recalled her arrival at Breezehome.  When she finally emerged, she looked up and from the position of the sun in the window she could tell it was quite early in the morning, which meant she hadn’t slept for long.   So she was surprised that she felt well rested—in fact, she couldn’t quite remember the last time she felt so rested.  On a chair next to the bed, Lydia had set out a dress, some wool socks, a washcloth, and soap.   She got up and put the clothes on—the dress was entirely too long—and grabbed the cloth and soap.  When she opened the door, she smelled sweet spices and heard people chatting.

Lydia and Idolaf were sitting at the table and Lydia smiled when she saw Elspeth at the bottom of the steps.  “Good morning!” she said, “I made porridge.  Would you like some?  And some tea?”

Elspeth felt famished again and said, “Yes, please.  I’m going to the tap first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.  That dress is a little big, no?  We’ll get you something that fits better today.”

When she returned and sat down, Idolaf asked—cautiously, as if wasn’t sure if Elspeth would respond to him—“Did you sleep well?  You were dead asleep when we left the Mare.”

“Yes, I did.  Um, how did I get back here?” she asked as she slid onto the bench next to Idolaf.

“Idolaf carried you,” explained Lydia.  “We tried waking you, but you wouldn’t stir.”

“I feel better than I have in a long time.  I’m surprised I got up so early though.  I thought I’d sleep longer.”

Idolaf raised his eyebrows, “Longer?”

“Well yes,” said Elspeth, not sure why this was surprising.  “I mean…”

“Oh Elspeth,” Lydia interrupted her, laughing.  “You’ve been asleep for over a day and a half.”  She placed a large bowl of porridge and mug of tea down.

“Really? Well, okay then.”  She wasn't really surprised; she hadn’t been that weary and injured in a long, long time.  She looked down at the porridge and started eating.  This was the breakfast of her childhood.  She looked back at Lydia, smiled and said quietly, “Just like Runa makes.”

“Yes,” interjected Idolaf, “and this is the only thing that Lydia can cook just like Runa.”

Elspeth frowned at Idolaf and looked at Lydia who agreed, “No, it’s true.  I can’t cook at all.  I eat a lot of cheese and bread.  And apples.”

“And at the Mare,” added Idolaf.  “And Dragonsreach.”

“Yes….”

“And at house Battle Born.”

“What’s your point?  The Battle Borns have been feeding me since I was small.  Since before you became a Battle Born.”

Elspeth giggled.  Idolaf didn’t make her feel anxious this morning and she rather enjoyed watching them squabble.

Idolaf had been uneasy about coming back to Breezehome to see Elspeth, not quite certain how she would receive him at this point.  With Lydia he knew what to expect; theirs was a friendship characterized by high levels of patience and she never got, much less stayed, angry with him.  But Elspeth was new and she had born the brunt of Legion stupidity—and that generally did not bode well for him or any Imperial supporter in Skyrim.  He was relieved to see her in good spirits and when she was finished eating he reached down to the floor and took something from his bag.  “I brought you something from my family,” he said as he handed her a large package wrapped in paper and twine.

Elspeth looked at the package suspiciously and then over to Lydia who nodded and smiled, gesturing for her to take it.  She took it slowly and examined it.  Runa had instructed her on the culture of gift giving in Skyrim, which really wasn’t that different from Bruma and the rest of Cyrodill, but there was an emphasis on giving gifts as compensation for a favor or work done for someone, when coin payment was hard to come by.   Needless to say, Elspeth was a little confused as it was quite unlikely that she had done him a favor in her sleep.  Nevertheless, she smiled and opened the package.  Inside was a beautiful charcoal colored cloak.

“Oh my goodness,” Elspeth gasped as she ran her fingers along the soft material.  “It’s beautiful.  Thank you.”  She was still somewhat confused but also in awe of the gift and Idolaf’s apparent generosity.  She pulled it over her shoulders and smiled.

“I’m glad you like it.  It’s a blend of wool and tundra cotton.  And the cotton is treated with fire salts, which will help keep you warm when you and Lydia travel up to Winterhold.”

“Thank you, again.  It’s lovely.”  And it was.  She was touched.

“Well then, I will leave you lovely ladies alone now.  I have to go to Warmaidens and see if I can get Adrienne to outfit the southern flank with swords.”

After he left, Elspeth continued to run her hands along the cloak.  Lydia smiled and said, “He feels terrible about the arrest.”

“So that’s why….” Elspeth smiled.

“Well, the Battle Borns are generous to a fault.  Idolaf and Olfrid, Alhild's father, are as stubborn as mules about the war, but they are Nords through and through.  They want you to feel welcome.”

Elspeth smiled and said, “I can live with that.  So, what happens next?”

Lydia went to a room in the back and returned with a small wooden box.  From there she pulled out a bag and shook a ring into her hand.  “Xeri left some money and some papers.  And this,” she said as she handed Elspeth the ring.

“My grandmother’s ring.  My hand has felt naked for a while now.”  She put it on and admired how it looked.  Xeri had presented it to her when she first started at Arcane University and had worn it every day until Xeri took it to Skyrim.

Lydia looked baffled for a moment and said, “It’s almost as if she knew it wouldn’t make it over the border if she’d left it with you.”

“Oh Xeri knows everything,” said Elspeth almost scornfully.  “She either saw the arrest and dragon attack in a vision or she engineered the whole thing as a test.”

Lydia laughed and sat back down.  “You need armor that fits better.  And clothes.  And some food for the house.  Then we should start planning for Winterhold.  We’re going to need to make some coin before we go.  And we should probably talk to Farengar in Dragonsreach about how best to navigate the college.”  She shook her head,  “Gods, no one should have to talk to Farengar.  We can do that later.”  Then she paused and asked, “What have you been telling people about yourself?”

“As little as possible but, it’s the same old story.  Parents fled the war.  Grew up in a refugee camp in Morrowind.  Parents died.  Taken in by Xeri and Runa.  Moved to Bruma.  Trained, trained, trained.”  Elspeth shook her head, “I’m astounded at how much my made-up past parallels my real life.  The only difference seems to be the location.  Oh, and I don’t talk about my Dremora childhood playmates.  And my mom isn’t so much dead as—” Elspeth stopped and took a deep breath.

Lydia looked at her sadly, “I’m sorry.”  She paused and then said, “Runa’s letters were so detailed.  And yet, I damn nearly fainted when she visited and told me the truth.  How is she, by the way?”

“Wonderful, I am sure.  Teaching in the temple.  I thought she would return to Skyrim, but she loves her students.”  Elspeth sighed, “I miss her.”  Lydia nodded in agreement.

After they finished their tea and tidied the kitchen and dining area, they headed out, first stopping at Warmaidens where they bought Elspeth a leather cuirass.  Adrienne promised to have it sized the next day, knowing she’d want a break from Idolaf’s enormous weapons order.  In the market they bought food and at Belethor’s General Goods, they obtained some clothing and shoes and a pair gloves.  Elspeth decided she liked the merchant and his salty sense of humor, despite his reputation around town as a sleazy little man.  She also procured a journal and a writing implement.  She was a note-taker by nature, but now that she was no longer under Xeri’s constant watchful gaze, perhaps she could finally keep a personal diary.

Idolaf had mentioned to Lydia that he’d commissioned a very large order of healing and stamina elixirs and that Arcadia, Whiterun’s apothecary, may want to hire someone to help fulfill it.  It took Elspeth several moments to convince herself that making potions fell outside the purview of “taking sides” in the war, although she might have felt differently had the order been for poison.  Lydia agreed and reminded her that the elixirs would be mixed with or without their help.  When they stopped in her shop and inquired about this, Arcadia directed her to the alchemy table saying only, “Show me what you can do.”

Elspeth found mixing potions tedious and dull, but since it was often the only respite she’d had from her rigorous training schedule she used to exaggerate how much she needed to practice and, as a result, was an efficient and capable alchemist.  From the ingredients that Arcadia provided, Elspeth produced 10 bottles of healing elixir, which was more than twice what was expected.  When Arcadia went to check on the elixirs, she frowned in disbelief and poured one onto a sheet of treated paper to observe its potency.  Her eyes brightened as she realized that Elspeth had managed to extract the maximum from most of the ingredients—something few alchemists bothered with.  She happily offered her the job and said she would have the supplies brought over shortly.

Back at Breezehome, they put their things away and discussed the rest of the day.  When Lydia asked if she wanted to do some training, Elspeth was momentarily speechless.  When she recovered she said, “Do I _want_ to train?”  No one had ever asked her if she wanted to train before—and she wasn’t entirely certain how to answer.  “Actually,” she looked over and continued quietly as if she thought someone besides Lydia would hear, “I would prefer not to.”

Lydia commented that Xeri had really done a number on her and they could train tomorrow.  She put a kettle on and looked at Elspeth who seemed uneasy all of a sudden.  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I should probably do some sprints,” Elspeth replied.

“Okay,” Lydia said—trying very hard not to laugh at Elspeth’s failed attempt to relax.

“And some jóga.”

“Okay,” said Lydia, still stifling her amusement.

“But no fighting practice.  That can wait until tomorrow.”  With the decision not to relax, Elspeth finally seemed at ease and after tea and lunch, they left the main gate of Whiterun and performed several sets of sprints along the river.  They ended training with a series of asanas.

When they returned home that evening, they were sore but somewhat energized and Lydia suggested going to the Mare.  It was crowded but they found Alfhild and Idolaf at a table and so they made their way over.  Lydia got ahead of Elspeth who had stopped to look over at someone standing by the bar—someone who looked very, very familiar.  After she started at him long enough to believe that he wasn’t one of the Fighter’s Guild captains from Bruma, she turned around and slammed face first into a wall.

Except that it wasn’t a wall.  It was an enormous woman—tall with the broadest shoulders that Elspeth had ever seen on a woman.  And she was covered with mead.  Elspeth jumped back and covered her mouth with her hand.  “I am so sorry,” she said, “I will buy you another drink.”   Elspeth turned to go back toward the bar but the woman grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, “I don’t want another drink.”

“Okay…” Elspeth was becoming uncomfortable, “I’m sorry.”  She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.

“I don’t like your attitude,” the woman said angrily.

Elspeth was at a loss as to what to do.  She tried to find Lydia but the woman was blocking her view.

“Wanna hear a little Nord wisdom,” the woman said. “You don’t really know a woman until you’ve had a strong drink and a fist fight with her.”  Her words were somewhat slurred.

“Excuse me, what?”  Elspeth was still confused.  “I could get you a strong drink.”

“Do you think you could take me on?” she asked.  A crowd was starting to gather around.

Elspeth considered this but before she could answer a voice interrupted, “Uthgerd! Leave her alone!”  Lydia was pushing her way through the crowd and came up beside them.

“She hasn’t answered my question.”

“Well fine,” said Lydia, “Elspeth, answer her question and then let’s go drink, okay.”

Elspeth paused and said, “Yes.  I think I can take you on.”  The crowd erupted with laughter.

“Oh for the love of Talos,” said Lydia who looked simply horrified.

“All right then! 100 septims says I pound you to the ground.”

Elspeth removed her bag and handed it to Lydia who was shaking her head, “No, no, no…you don’t have to do this.”

“If this is anything like Bruma, don’t I?”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to.”

“But if I don’t, I’ll look like a fool.”

Lydia looked back at Uthgerd and said, “You’re going to look like a fool regardless.”

“Probably.” Elspeth seemed unconcerned and asked, “what are the rules?” She put her new gloves, wiggled her fingers and said, “I have to protect these magic hands.”

Lydia was starting to think that Elspeth had no idea what she was getting herself into.  She sighed and said, “No weapons, no magic. Gloves are fine.”

“Can I fight dirty?”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

“I’M WAITING!” Uthegerd was hollering and the crowd was getting excited.

Elspeth turned around and Lydia moved in a little closer, preparing herself to jump in if things got bad.  The difference between the contenders was considerable.  Uthgerd was huge.  She actually wasn’t much taller than Lydia, but she almost twice her width.  On the other hand, Elspeth was short, even for a Breton.   She bent her knees with her strong foot forward and pulled her right fist up to her face.  Then she waited.  Unless she was striking in anger, Elspeth always let her opponent strike first.  Uthgerd threw out a punch, which Elspeth easily ducked.  Her height—or lack thereof—helped with this and she was fast.

While she was down she punched Uthgerd in the gut.  Hard.  Really hard.  Uthgerd keeled over and Elspeth knew she had to work fast.  As usual, speed was her only advantage.  She elbowed Uthgerd in the ribs.  Uthgerd threw her arms back and Elspeth staggered.  When they were up and facing each other again, Uthgerd threw another punch that landed square in Elspeth’s face.  She shook this off and when Uthgerd struck out again, Elspeth jumped to her side and threw a high kick into her hip.  Uthgerd was slow and not expecting a kick.  When she staggered back this time, she couldn’t recover quickly enough.  Elspeth went in again, a frenzy of kicks and punches, and then she threw her whole body into Uthgerd, which finally knocked her to the floor.  While she was down, Elspeth quickly straddled her chest and locked her arms down with her legs.  Grabbing the top of her shirt, Elspeth proceeded to punch her several times in the face until she cried uncle.

As Elspeth helped her off the ground, Uthgerd clapped her hard on the back.  She leaned in and said, “That was impressive.  If you ever need me, I’ve got your back.”  She handed Elspeth the coin and retreated to the back of the inn.

The crowd was nodding and laughing in approval while Elspeth looked around.  She found Lydia, Alfhild, and Idolaf waiting for her just off to the side.  Lydia and Alfhild were speechless.  Idolaf was beaming.

When they sat down Idolaf asked, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”  He was very impressed.

“I brawled a lot in Bruma,” explained Elspeth.

“Xeri let you brawl?!?” Lydia was incredulous at this.

“Xeri arranged most of those brawls,” replied Elspeth.

“Of course she did.”

Elspeth drank for free as the crowd continued to register their approval throughout the evening.  The Bard played songs and Elspeth knew all the words.  Lydia sat back and smiled.  Elspeth was going to be just fine in Skyrim.


	9. I'll Look to Thee

“We need a bounty job,” said Lydia as she watched Elspeth pack up another box of elixirs for Arcadia.

“A what?” asked Elspeth.

“Occasionally, Jarls will put out a bounty—a single job that nets a good amount of coin. Usually it involves clearing an abandoned tower or camp of bandits. I should check in with Proventus and see if he has anything.”

For several weeks, Elspeth and Lydia had been working odd jobs around Whiterun saving up coin for their trip to the College of Winterhold. There was no shortage of jobs but they didn’t pay well. They had consulted with Balgruuf’s court wizard, the socially inept Farengar Secret-Fire, who explained that the mages at the college probably would not accept money for information. Elspeth would have to enroll at the college either as an apprentice or visiting mage. Also, Lydia would have to stay in town since the college wasn’t in the habit of hosting non-mages. After making several deliveries for him—including frost salts to Arcadia who confessed she was going to use them in a love potion that she intended to test on the awkward wizard—Farengar offered to write a letter of introduction on behalf of Elspeth to his former mentor, Tolfdir, the Master Alteration mage at the College.

At one point they considered joining the Companions, a collective of warriors and mercenaries whose headquarters, Jorrvaskr, was located right in Whiterun. It was, by far, the best way to earn a great deal of coin but Lydia had heard rumors of conflict in their upper ranks. Moreover, the commitment required was considerable and more than either of them felt comfortable making at this point.

“That sounds like a good idea,” agreed Elspeth. “Why don’t you go to Dragonsreach while I bring these elixirs to Arcadia?”

They parted ways in the market. At Arcadia’s Elspeth attempted to buy some dragon’s tongue but Arcadia told her take whatever she wanted. Elspeth helped herself to dragons tongue and some inexpensive supplies for her own stash of health and stamina elixirs. Back outside, she stopped to talk to Carlotta Valentia and her daughter Mila. She and Elspeth had become friendly since Elspeth had very effectively convinced Mikael-the-Bard to stop his pathetic attempts at courting her.

When Carlotta had customers, Elspeth excused herself and raced with Mila up the steps to the Gildergreen and approached the shrine to Talos—it was a sort of makeshift shrine set up every day by the priest Heimskr, who was engaging in his daily proselytizing in defiance of the White-Gold Concordat’s prohibition of Talos worship, with oration that was part sermon and part tirade:

"Talos the Mighty! Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable! To you we give Praise! We are but maggots writhing in the filth of our own corruption! While you have ascended from the dung of mortality, and now walk among the stars! But you were once man! Aye! And as man you said, "Let me show you the power of Talos, Stormcrown, born of the North, where my breath is long winter. I breathe now in royalty and reshape this land, which is mine. I do this for you, Red Legions, for I love you."

He smiled when Elspeth stopped by the shrine and left her offering of dragon’s tongue. In Bruma—which at one time housed the Great Chapel of Talos—people kept shrines in their basements for prayer. In public, they made offerings of coin and snowberries and wormwood at the feet of Tiber Septim’s statue. It was allowed because it wasn’t explicit worship and also because the Thalmor had a made a point of ignoring Bruma for reasons no one quite understood.

After Elspeth returned to Bruma from Arcane University, Xeri quickly thwarted her more vocal and overt attempts at revolt promising her, “a time for justice and transformation and healing.” In the interim, they went back to the mountains for a long year of intensive training. And then she came to Skyrim for this very important task—the significance of which Elspeth was still not entirely certain. But it was a chance to leave Cyrodill. It was a chance to meet Runa’s family. If her time was now, she had no idea.

She also didn’t know if her offering at the Whiterun shrine mattered, but it was comforting and it seemed to make Heimskr, the self-appointed “chosen of Talos,” happy. In any case, it felt like solidarity and quiet defiance, which was a start.

“Have you come to learn about Talos, Breton?” Normally, Heimskr simply nodded as she came by his shrine. Today he stopped his sermon to talk.

Elspeth smiled and said, “I know about Talos. I grew up in Bruma.”

“Ah! They still worship Talos there?” He sounded surprised.

“They do what they can,” Elspeth replied as she nodded and turned to leave.

“Talos guide you, Breton.” And then, resuming his sermon, he shouted, “Trust in me, Whiterun! Trust in the words of Heimskr! For I am the chosen of Talos! I alone have been anointed by the Ninth to spread his holy word!”

Elspeth skipped back down the steps back to Breezehome. It was a beautiful day—clear and sunny. She was itching for some action—bandits would do. However, part of her hoped that Lydia would come back without work and they could spend another afternoon sparring with Farkas and Aela from the Companions. It would be time to leave Whiterun soon and that made her a little sad.

Lydia was reading at the table when Elspeth arrived home. “Hello there,” she said while Elspeth headed into the back room to sort her alchemy ingredients .

“What did you find out at Dragonsreach?”

“The current bounty is to take care of a hostile giant at Bleakwind Basin. I guess we’ll have to keep taking small jobs for now…wait, what are you doing?” she shouted after Elspeth who ran upstairs, suddenly very excited about something.

“Getting my armor. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

"Getting ready for what?” She shook her head, “You can’t be serious. We can’t go kill a giant by ourselves. The Companions never send less than three people out for a giant. We should at least get someone else.”

“Then we’ll have to split the take. Come on. I’ve killed at least one of every creature in Cyrodill by myself! Including an ogre or two. Hurry up or I’m going without you.” Elspeth threw her bag over her shoulder and filled it with elixirs. She also tossed in a couple of poison potions.

“Elspeth, this is a very bad idea,” warned Lydia.

“Okay then, I will see you in a couple of hours.” And she turned around and left.

Lydia looked after her in horror. Xeri had mentioned that Elspeth could be a bit zealous at times. She ran upstairs and put her armor on as quickly as possible, grabbed her axe and some bows and arrows, and ran out of the house. As she left Breezehome, Toki the guard came running up to her, “Lydia! I think Elspeth is about to do something rather rash. She took directions to Bleakwind.”

“Thanks Toki,” Lydia said as she ran down the street. “I’ll talk her out of it!” Outside the gate, she had to run to find Elspeth who was almost half way to the giant’s camp when Lydia finally caught up with her.

“If you’re itching to kill something,” asked Lydia as she ran up alongside, “Why didn’t you start with that dragon?” She hoped to catch her off guard but Elspeth was a little too sharp to have her nerve so easily undermined.

“I had no weapon, armor, or even magicka,” replied Elspeth. “Besides, it was a dragon. This is just a giant who, from what I understand, does not fly and breath fire.”

“Oh okay; you’re the expert,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Okay, I can see the fire from the camp. Let’s at least try to sneak up…dear gods, will you please slow down and wait?” Elspeth had gotten ahead again but this time she stopped and waited by a large boulder. Lydia thought perhaps she had decided to be patient, but when she saw her, she almost laughed aloud at the look of astonishment on Elspeth’s face.

“He’s HUGE,” Elspeth gasped.

“It’s a GIANT. What exactly did you expect?”

“He’s almost twice the size of an ogre. Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Come on, let’s go back to town and see if we can find Uthgerd or—”

“Oh no,” Elspeth protested, “I’m not going back there without a dead giant behind me.”

“Great,” said Lydia, “Zealous AND stubborn.”

“Traits that have served me well so far,” she said. She handed Lydia a bottle, “Here. You can poison the tips of your arrow with this—I’m assuming we’re not taking giant meat home for dinner.”

Lydia shook her head and prepared her arrows. She thanked the Divines it was a lone giant—without a mammoth even. This was sometimes the case when they went hostile; they would break off from their group and start attacking trading caravans or bandits or other wanderers. She took her time preparing the arrows, hoping to give Elspeth a chance to realize what an incredibly stupid idea this was.

Elspeth, it turned out, was too proud to back down. And so when Lydia nodded that she was ready, they both took a deep breath and, after sneaking in a little closer, they struck—Lydia with the arrows and Elspeth with a strong fire spell. Then they ran in opposite directions. When the giant chased Lydia, Elspeth got him from behind with more fire. And when he switched and chased Elspeth, Lydia attacked with more arrows. By sheer chance, since she was aiming for his chest, she managed to pierce his hammer-wielding arm and he howled in pain and dropped his weapon. That arm went limp and Elspeth managed to hit his other arm with a lightening spell. He ran toward her, leaving the hammer behind.

They danced like this for over an hour, running around in circles. The giant was strong and fast, but the women were also fast, light on their feet, and had good aim. His endurance was unmatched by any creature they'd met before, and they had potions to compensate. At some point, he focused on catching Elspeth and ignored Lydia as she bombarded his back with arrows. When he caught up to her, he attempted to kick her and Elspeth ran straight back into his legs, cutting with her sword as best she could while still running. It was a risky move and one that almost ended badly. When the giant started to stagger, Lydia yelled, “I’m going in,” and she charged forward, cutting the backs of his knees with her axe. He howled again and knocked Lydia over as he came crashing down. Lydia kicked herself out of the way and Elspeth ran in with her sword, sinking it deep into the giant’s lower back. She pulled it out and he turned around and with the backside of his arm, knocked her across the grass. He was weakened considerably, however, and he fell backwards. Before he could recover, Lydia came up and cut into his neck with her axe. She staggered backwards toward Elspeth and when she was certain that the giant was dead, collapsed next to her.

They were exhausted and sore and so they just lay on their backs for a while trying to catch their breath. The stamina potions were gone and Lydia wasn’t even sure how close they were to the giant’s camp or Whiterun. It could be a long very long walk home. She looked up and around and saw two figures some distance behind them heading their way. She put her head back down and said, “Someone’s coming.”

“Good,” responded Elspeth, “maybe they’re bandits and they’ll finish us off. You were right. This was a very bad idea.”

Lydia let out a weak laugh and said, “I was just going to say that you were right. We are absolutely capable of killing a giant.” She let out a low groan and tried to get up but it hurt too much.

“LYDIA!” A man’s voice shouted. “ELSPETH!”

Lydia was still too weak and tired to stand so she put her hand straight up in the air and waved a bit. “We’re alive,” she said as she heard them approach.

Elspeth opened her eyes and looked at the two men now standing over them—shaking their heads and scowling. It was Idolaf and one of the twins…though with the sun in her eyes, she wasn’t sure which one.

“Lydia, which one is that?” she said without moving.

Lydia looked and squinted her eyes, “Vilkas.” She didn’t move either.

“Oh good,” said Elspeth, “The cranky one.”

“You two!” said Idolaf. “I don’t even want to know what you were thinking.” Vilkas just continued to frown. If pushed, he would have admitted to being impressed but since no one was asking, he made his disapproval clear.

“We killed a giant,” said Elspeth with a huge grin on her face.

“Here,” said Idolaf as he knelt down. He gave them each a strong stamina potion and helped them to their feet. “When you didn’t come back, Toki became concerned.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Lydia, “We’re really okay though.”

“Yeah, you’re in great shape,” said Vilkas sarcastically as he watched both women limp across the grass. When he saw that they could move on their own, he turned back toward Whiterun. Everyone was quiet until Elspeth asked, “Vilkas, where do giants come from?” He was also known as the smarter twin and she meant to test this as a way of breaking the silence.

“What?” said Vilkas, not expecting questions or conversation of any sort. He only knew Elspeth from watching his brother spar with her and Lydia occasionally. He had come along because he happened to be standing next to Idolaf in the market when Toki approached in a panic. He wasn’t inclined to do favors for the Battle Born clan, but he also wasn’t going to leave the women to fight a giant on their own. “Well,” he said eventually, “They are native to Skyrim. I think they’ve always been here.”

“No, I mean…are there baby giants? Are there female giants?”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Vilkas laughed. “I heard once that the giants lost their wives and they roam Skyrim looking for them. But no one has ever seen their wives. In fact, these are probably the last of giants.”

“Well,” said Elspeth, “that’s actually sort of sad.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Farkas, Njada, and I killed one last year and I spent an hour just examining the markings on his skin. There was a discernible pattern. They make and cook food and adorn themselves with tokens from their kill. They’re not just monsters. As primitive as it may be, they have a culture—with rituals and symbols. It’s not all that different from ours; it’s just not quite as developed.”

Elspeth nodded. He seemed thoughtful as well as intelligent; perhaps he did have the brains of Ysgramor as his brother Farkas claimed. “They sort of live in both worlds you know?” she said, “Monster and human. I’ve always been curious about creatures like that—who of straddle two worlds, vampires, werewolves, hagravens—”

Vilkas interrupted her suddenly, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said sternly as his face returned to its typical scowl. As they approached the gate he walked on ahead, leaving Elspeth shaking her head and muttering under her breath: “And now we’re back to cranky.”

She waited for Idolaf and Lydia to catch up and the three of them walked through town together. He left them at the steps of Dragonsreach and indicated that he didn’t care how tired and sore they might be, they were expected to have dinner at House Battle Born the next evening.

At Dragonsreach, Proventus shook his head in disbelief as he paid them. And with the bounty, they had enough now for many weeks of travel through Skyrim. Barring any delays, they would set out for Winterhold in two days time.


	10. I knew right then I’d be takin’ a whirl*

_*With sincerest apologies to Steve Earle. I love song fic, but I try to keep it to traditional, million-year-old folk songs. I just couldn't hep myself here._

________

They stayed in bed for most of the day.  Elspeth couldn’t even be bothered to get up to eat she was so sore.  And when Lydia went in to wake her, she did so because she  was excited to show off the massive bruise that covered her upper left thigh.  When they finally got up, they made tea and ate cheese and bread and spent most of the afternoon chatting, lying on Elspeth’s bed because it was far more comfortable than the downstairs benches and chairs.  As a result, they did little to prepare for the trip north and decided to postpone it for a day or so.

“We don’t have to go to House Battle Born tonight if you don’t want to.” said Lydia suddenly.

“Why wouldn’t I want to go?” asked Elspeth, a little confused by this.  She’d been looking forward to meeting the rest of the Battle Born clan.  She’d also heard that dinners and parties at their house were entertaining and felt that it would be an appropriate way to bid farewell to Whiterun.

“There is a lot of talk of politics…” explained Lydia.

“So?” she replied, “People talk politics everywhere in Whiterun.”

“And, sometimes your mother comes up in conversation.”

“My mother?”  This was very surprising.  Anyone who had followed the events of the Great War and the signing of the White-Gold Concordat knew of Evangeline Sigeweald.  In recent years, however, whatever notoriety Evangeline garnered had become associated with elves and mages.

“I’m used to people not liking my mother, I went to Arcane University,” Elspeth explained. “Although a lot people liked her there.  They just couldn’t talk about it.  I suppose anyone concerned about the Thalmor would have an opinion, but I assumed that Nords would have other, more pressing concerns.  Do the Battle Borns not like her?

“Jon really likes her.  He said  _The Thalmor Mistake_  was the greatest thing he’s ever read. Although, sometimes I think he’s just being contrarian to upset his father.”

Elspeth had met Jon Battle Born several times now and was pleased to hear that he had strong opinions, and was thus capable of more than hanging around the market looking sullen.  “That book is hard to come by.  What does rest of the family think?”

“Well, the general consensus is that she was treated unfairly and for that there is sympathy but….”

“But what?” Elspeth was dying of curiosity.  Apart from Xeri and Runa, she had no opportunity to discuss her mother with someone who actually knew it was her mother they were discussing.  Normally she had to leave conversations with a restrained shake of the head or a simple, agreeable nod, to avoid causing suspicion by becoming excessively enthusiastic or defensive.

“Well,” Lydia paused, “Olfrid feels that she just made things worse for herself, particularly after Hammerfell.  And that her actions there are rightly considered a betrayal, if not outright treason.”

“And?”

“That’s all,” Lydia found Ofrid’s mentality shameful, particularly in light of the Sigewealds’ service to the Empire.  She could not understand why he wouldn’t admit to Titus Mede II’s ongoing abuse of authority and kowtowing to the Thalmor just to secure his seat as Emperor.  Everything with him was all or nothing.  Even Idolaf admitted that his own support for the Empire was motivated more by practical concerns for Skyrim’s future than devotion to Mede.

Much to Lydia’s surprise, however, Elspeth started laughing.  “Oh Lydia!” she said, “I have heard so much worse said of my mother.  Insurrectionist.  Traitor.  Not to mention some choice comments involving the consumption of feces.”

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief.  Xeri had mentioned that she and Runa attempted to instill values that were not formed in reaction to Mede’s and the Thalmor’s treatment of the Sigewealds.  Elspeth knew her family’s history, but Lydia was not sure the degree to which Xeri and Runa were able to protect her from unpleasant political opinions.

Elspeth responded as if she could read Lydia’s thoughts, “Xeri had this idea that she could remove me from the world and create a sort of paragon, so that when my  _time_  came I would meet my challenges untainted—by what, I have no idea.  She tried; she really did.  But she couldn’t shelter me from everything.”  Then she looked intently at Lydia, “And neither can you.”

Lydia looked down at her lap; she was unsure of how to respond.  She couldn’t tell if Elspeth meant to be hurtful, if she was questioning her ability or merely stating facts.  She shook her head and was quiet.

Elspeth sensed that Lydia did not take her comment in the spirit it was intended—which not to insult her, but merely to remind her that such attempts at protection were futile—and so she continued, “Look, if you can just keep me from offending every Jarl and his steward between here and Winterhold, you’ll have done your duty.”

Lydia looked up and laughed, “I rather like the idea of you offending every Jarl and his steward between here and Winterhold.  And if we ever make our way south, we’ll stop in Falkreath just for the pleasure of offending the Jarl.” Lydia sighed, “Okay then, we should get ready.”

*****

Lydia and Elspeth were the last to arrive at House Battle Born that evening.  Two young children, Lars Battle Born and Mila Valentia, enthusiastically greeted them as they walked through the door.

“Lydie!” They ran over and hugged Lydia around her legs.

“Is this your friend?” asked Lars.

“Lars thinks she’s pretty,” teased Mila.

Lars blushed, “I do not!”  He scampered off.

“Hi Elspeth,” said Mila.

“Hello Mila,” Elspeth smiled and looked around.  She recognized almost everyone.  Carlotta, Alfhid and Idolaf, Jon was in the corner looking sullen.  There were a couple of men that she hadn’t met.  An older woman approached them.  It was Bergritte, the matriarch of the Battle Born clan.

“Good evening Lydia! How are you?” She hugged Lydia and kissed her cheek, “And you must be Elspeth.”

Elspeth smiled, “I am.  Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

“Well, thank you for coming.  I heard that you’ll be leaving soon, but I hope you’ll come back when you’re in Whiterun again.  Lydia, let me show her around and introduce her to Olfrid.”  She strung her thin arm through Elspeth’s. Her manner was enthusiastic, yet warm.  She was so friendly that Elspeth thought she might cry.  She brought her over to a large, extremely well dressed man who was talking to the other man Elspeth did not recognize.

“Olfrid, this is Elspeth.  Runa’s ward—the one who has been staying with Lydia.”

He held out his hand, “Welcome to House Battle Born.  Any friend of Lydia’s is a friend of ours, provided you support the Empire.”  He laughed heartily as they shook hands and Elspeth guessed that he was probably serious, despite his good humor.  “Although,” he said with a slight look of irritation, “I suppose you are going to take the side of Whiterun, much like Lydia.”

“Oh, is that allowed?” asked Elspeth.  Olfrid laughed, but it wasn’t exactly a friendly laugh.

“Sooner or later, everyone has to pick a side.”  It was Idolaf, who was approaching them from behind.

“And this,” Bergritte said, gesturing to the other man, “is Hrongar.”  She squeezed her arm and said, “I’m going to check on dinner.”

Hrongar put out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, “You made quite an impression on my brother.”

“Your brother?” asked Elspeth.

Hrongar laughed, “Balgruuf the Greater.”

“Oh!” said Elspeth, who was suddenly a little embarrassed, “I didn’t know he had a brother.”  Then she paused and asked, “What sort of impression?  That I’m short and somewhat irreverent?”

“Yes,” he laughed.  “How did you know?”

“That’s generally the impression I leave.  I’m sorry, I haven’t seen you around so….”

“No worries,” he said, “Most people forget that the Jarl has a brother.  Anyway, I just got back this morning.  I was in Morrowind all month.  Otherwise, I would have been happy to help you and Lydia yesterday.  I heard you had a little trouble with a giant.”  He winked, while Idolaf laughed.

“Hardly!” Lydia joined them.  “Elspeth and I kicked that giant’s bottom all the way to Oblivion.  And we didn’t need any help.”

“Did you use magic?” asked Hrongar.

“Here we go,” said Lydia.

Elspeth laughed, “Of course I did, why?”

“Don’t you think that’s cheating?” Idolaf chimed in.

Elspeth couldn’t tell if he actually thought it was cheating or if he was just giving her a hard time.  She had been warned that Nords didn’t care for magic and were suspicious of mages.  But she was perplexed.  The Nords towered over her—how could she be expected not to use magic to an advantage?  Without it, Bretons wouldn’t have much of a warrior culture.  Or maybe that was the point.

“Idolaf, I’ve got a dead giant behind me and a fat bounty in my purse. I don’t care if it’s cheating.  Dead is dead.  Besides,” she said, pausing, “magic is far superior to steel.”

Lydia smiled, while Hrongar and Idolaf looked appalled.

“Oh, you think so?” said Idolaf.

“Attack me.”  Elspeth said to him.

“What?  Elspeth, I don’t think—” he protested.  The others stopped their conversations; the children stopped playing.  Everyone was staring at them.

“You don’t have to hurt me.  Just attack me as if we were going to fight to the death.  And then stop instead of stabbing me.”

“All right,” Idolaf sounded annoyed.  He stepped forward and as soon as he put his hand on his sword’s hilt, Elspeth tossed a very weak lightening spell that hit him in the wrist.  He pulled his hand away and gave her a hard look.

“The warrior always has to reach for his weapon,” explained Elspeth, “I’ve already got mine.”

Idoalf laughed and said, “Touché.”

“That was beautiful Elspeth,” said Jon from the other side of the room as he tipped his tankard in her direction.  The rest of the group also laughed and Lars looked at Elspeth with wide-eyed admiration.

Bergritte called the group over to the table and they settled in for dinner.  After the food was served and tankards refilled, Olfrid stood up to welcome their guests.  He motioned to Lydia and Elspeth, wishing them safe travels.  Afterward they ate and chatted.  Hrongar shared stories of his adventures in Morrowind, some of which were clearly embellished for the sake of Mila and Lars.  When he was finished, Jon looked over and asked, “So, are you going to tell us about the dragon?”

“Yes!” said Bergritte, “I was so hoping you would.  Olfrid’s been telling dragon stories since the children were babies.”

“Indeed!” said Olfrid, “Also, what were you doing in Helgen?”

Elspeth couldn’t believe she had to go through this again.  She looked over at Lydia, who glared at Idolaf and Alfhild.  They shrugged their shoulders apologetically.  It was clear that they hadn’t shared the circumstances of Elspeth’s arrival with the rest of the family.

“Well…” Elspeth began.

“You know!” said Alfhild interrupting, “I think it’s time for small children to go to bed.”

Carlotta agreed, “It’s our turn, right?  I’ll take them back to our house.”

“BUT I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THE DRAGON,” protested Lars.

“ME TOO!!!” said Mila.

There was some confusion and discomfort on the part of Bergritte and Olfrid as to why the children had to be sent away.  They weren’t hiding the fact of the dragon attack from them.  What they didn’t yet know, however, was that Idolaf and Alfhild were not enthusiastic about sharing stories of Imperial brutality.

Elspeth had an idea.  She got up and stepped to the side of the table, motioning for Lars and Mila to join her.   She knelt down with them and said, “Why don’t you two meet me by the Gildergreen tomorrow after breakfast.  I will tell you all about the dragon.  I’ll even tell you some things I am not telling the grownups.”

The children looked at each other and smiled, “Okay!”  They said goodnight to and went off with Carlotta.

When Elspeth sat down again, Idolf asked, “How did you do that?”

She took a sip of her mead, “I promised them a special story.”

“All right then,” said Olfrid, “What were you doing in Helgen?  Lydia was planning to head down to the Rift when—”

“You know,” interjected Idolaf, I don’t think that matters.”

“Did you see the dragon swoop down from the sky?” asked Bergritte.  She had a dreamy look in her eyes as if she found the idea of dragons somewhat exciting, maybe even romantic.  This puzzled Elspeth.

“Well of course it matters!” said Olfrid harshly.  “One does not simply step out of Morrowind and into Helgen.   Elspeth, did you just walk past Riften?”

“Father!” said Alfhild, “Mother wants to hear about the dragon, not the wrong turns of Elspeth’s travels.”  She and Idolaf were trying to help.  It was a gallant effort, but Elspeth’s patience was spent.

She looked at Olfrid and Bergritte, took a deep breath, crossed her arms, and said, “I was in Helgen because I was arrested and brought there with the Stormcloaks.  I saw the dragon land on the tower just as I was about to have my head chopped off by an Imperial headsman.”  She paused and continued, “Basically, the dragon interrupted my execution.”  She took a sip of her mead, “In a way, I am lucky he showed up when he did.”

For a moment the table was silent.  Hrongar, Bergritte, and Jon were stunned and silent but Olfrid was angry, “Do you intend to tell us why you were scheduled to be executed?”

Idolaf, “Olfrid, I have talked to Elspeth—“

“Silence!”

“Elspeth,” Olfrid was stern and repeated, “Do you intend to tell us why you were scheduled to be executed?”

Elspeth’s lip trembled, “After crossing the boarder into Skyrim, I ran into an Imperial ambush.  Ulfric Stormcloak was there. I hid but one of the captains found me.  They didn’t ask me any questions.  They just brought us all to the end of the line.”  She had tears brimming in her eyes.  Lydia took her hand and squeezed it.

“You were with Ulfric Stormcloak!” said Jon.  “What is he like?”

Idolaf shook his head at Jon, “I think the only thing that Elspeth was guilty of was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Right?”  He looked at her and smiled sympathetically.  Elspeth nodded and Lydia put her arm around her.

Olfrid looked sheepish for a moment, “Well, if what you say is true, I hope you will forgive my quickness to judgment and anger.  And I hope your experience with the Imperial Army has not soured your support for the Empire.”

Elspeth was still upset.  She shook her head and looked at her lap.

“However did you get away?” asked a now astonished Bergritte.

Elspeth smiled at the thought of Ralof, “The Imperials left me at the block.  Another prisoner helped me.  He cut my bindings and we ran though the keep together.”  Elsepth looked right at Olfrid, who was, again, looking at her suspiciously.  By now Elspeth didn’t care; she didn’t need or want anything from him.   The rest of the table seemed to have nothing but sympathy.  Despite their compassion, however, it was uncomfortably quiet for a bit.  “Look,” Elspeth said finally, “If you are going to make me talk about Helgen, I am going to require more mead.”

“Yes!” said Jon.  “And some music.”  He left the table in search of his lute.

Bregritte stood up and turned to her husband, “Olfrid, why don’t we go to bed and let them enjoy themselves.”  She moved behind Elspeth and hugged her shoulders, “Don’t you mind my husband.  We are so glad to have you here. Good night everyone.”

When Bergritte and Olfrid left, the room was noticeably more relaxed.  Tankards were refilled and Jon started playing his lute.  Idolaf sat down next to Elspeth and dropped two dice in front of her, “Roll.”

The game was rather simple.  The number on the dice determined who drank and how much.   The purpose of the game was obvious, but another advantage was that it didn’t require much in terms of attentiveness.  They told jokes and filled Elspeth in on stories from their childhood.  How Alfhild and Idolaf became a couple, and of the time that Lydia made Nightshade Chicken.  “I didn’t think I was ever going to stop vomiting,” said Alfhild.  There was much laughter and revelry and whatever discomfort Oflrid had inspired in Elspeth was gone.  She had found her people and was sad to be leaving so soon.

“So,” said Hrongar after some time, “Elspeth!  Are you betrothed?”

“Am I what?”  She was thrown off guard, “um…no.”

“We’ll find you someone,” said Alfhild.  “Then you can live in Whiterun forever.”

“Do we even have any Bretons in Whiterun?” asked Idolaf.

“Belethor,” responded Jon.

“No!” said Lydia, “That will never happen.  I don’t care how many discounts he gives her.”

“Meh,” said Idolaf, “It’s only because she makes him feel tall.”

“Elspeth needs to fall in love with a Nord,” said Lydia.  She looked over at Elspeth, “Can you imagine how happy that will make Runa?”

“Yes,” said Elspeth.  She was starting to feel embarrassed.

“She can marry Jon,” said Idolaf.  This made Jon extremely uncomfortable.  He looked as if wanted to protest, but didn’t want to appear insulting either.

Thankfully Lydia shook her head and said, “No.  Jon’s not her type.  She needs a mage.”

“Ha!” said Idolaf, “A Nord mage.  Good luck with that.”

“Well,” said Hrongar, “It looks like you’ll be marrying Farengar.  Gods help you.”  They all laughed at this and Jon passed the lute over to Hrongar, insisting that he sing something.  Hrongar was more than happy to oblige and as they continued to toss the dice and drink, he sang.

 _Well, I took a stroll on the old long walk_  
Of a day -I-ay-I-ay  
I met a little girl and we stopped to talk  
Of a fine soft day -I-ay-I-ay  
And I ask you, friend, what’s a fella to do  
‘Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue  
And I knew right then I’d be takin’ a whirl  
‘Round the Chillfurrow Farm with a Whiterun girl**

“Wait a minute,” said Elspeth when he paused, “that’s not how that song goes!”

“Shhhhhhhhhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.   “Why aren’t you drunk yet?”

“Yeah,” said Alfhild, “Your nose should have turned red hours ago.”  She was starting to slur her words.  All eyes were on Elspeth.  As a Breton, she should have passed out several bottles ago.  But she was wide-awake—and probably the most sober of the bunch.  Idolaf accused her of drinking water.

“Maybe it’s a spell,” said Jon, “Can I learn that spell?”

Elspeth sighed and explained, “I don’t really get drunk…I was trained to build up a tolerance.”  Her voice trailed off toward the end, realizing how completely ludicrous it sounded when she said it aloud.  She looked up, away from the group.

Lydia choked on the sip she was taking and slammed her tankard on the table, “Do you mean to tell me that Xeri trained you to drink?”

Elspeth nodded, “Yes.  A little ale every day starting when I was 13.”

“Is there  _anything_  fun that elf hasn’t completely ruined for you?”  She was simultaneously amused and appalled.

“If there is, I have yet to discover it.”

The group went from looking at her in disbelief to bursting out in uproarious laughter.  Hrongar had tears in his eyes, he was laughing so hard.  But where Elspeth might have been embarrassed, she found herself laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.   When they settled down, Hrongar finished his song, all the time giving Elspeth a sideways look that warned against correcting the lyrics.

 _We were halfway there when the rain came down_  
Of a day -I-ay-I-ay  
And she asked me up to her house in town  
Of a fine soft day -I-ay-I-ay  
And I ask you, friend, what’s a fella to do  
‘Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue  
So I took her hand and I gave her a twirl  
And I lost my heart to a Whiterun girl

_When I woke up I was all alone_   
_With a broken heart and a ticket home_   
_And I ask you now, tell me what would you do_   
_If her hair was black and her eyes were blue_   
_I’ve traveled around I’ve been all over this world_   
_Boys I ain’t never seen nothin’ like a Whiterun girl_

________

_**Just massive apologies all around.  For real._


	11. As Is

Elspeth was still humming the last song that Jon sang as she and Lydia walked home.  She was tired, stuffed full of food and mead, and content.  She hadn’t laughed that hard or that much in a long time and she wondered if someday, when all this questing was over, when her so-called time was done, if she could make Whiterun her home.

At Breezehome Lydia smiled wanly and said, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to walk around and get some air.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” said Elspeth, “but is everything okay?”

“Oh yes,” she said, “But those parties always make me dizzy.  I need to unwind a little.”

Elspeth wasn’t entirely convinced but she didn’t want to pry.  She was exhausted and eager for her bed; it was one of those nights she knew she would be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 

*****

Elspeth wasn’t sure what woke her up, but it was the grunt and cough from the hallway that got her out of bed.  She tiptoed out of her room and down the hallway.  On the steps she saw the outline of a figure that was entirely too wide to be Lydia.  Someone had broken into Breezehome.  She turned quietly and grabbed the decorative bowl on the dresser and then, sneaking closer to the intruder, she raised her arms and brought the bowl down, smashing it on his head.  There was a huge crash as he tumbled down the stairs.

Elspeth heard a loud gasp as Lydia staggered out of her room wearing only a bearskin and holding a lantern

“Lydia!” Elspeth shrieked,  “Someone broke in.  I’ll go get a guard!  You make sure he doesn’t get away!”

“Hold on!” said Lydia.  She rushed down the stairs and held the lamp over the man that Elspeth had sent tumbling.  It was Hrongar.

Elspeth looked at Lydia and down at Hrongar and then back up at Lydia again and said, “Well!”  Then she shook her head and joined Lydia at the bottom of the stairs.  She found another lantern and wandered into the alchemy lab where she called out, “Check him.  Does he need elixir?”

Hrongar was starting to moan and move around.  Lydia knelt by him and observed him for a moment.  “I think a cool, wet cloth will do,” she replied.  “Maybe some blisterwort for the pain.” Elspeth procured the supplies while Lydia helped to ease him to a sitting position.

“Gods damn,” he cried, “What happ—who hit me?”

“I am so sorry, Hrongar” said Elspeth as she sat next to him.  She put the cloth to the back of his head and handed him some blisterwort and a cup of water.

“She thought you were trespassing.  I told you not to wake her up,” said Lydia, shaking her head.  She sounded annoyed, although her eyes betrayed her concern for him.

Hrongar glared at her.  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said, although his eyes were still on Lydia.

“And I’m sorry I knocked you out.”  When Elspeth saw that they were ignoring her in favor of frowning at each other she took a cue to leave.  “I’m going back to bed,” she said as she started back up the stairs.

“Wait Elspeth,” Lydia said, her voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”  She sounded distressed.

Elspeth was naïve about a lot of things.  However, she knew better than to concern herself with the intimate lives of others—even those of friends.  At Arcane, that sort of thing only led to trouble.  Also, she’d learned the hard way that there was only one kind of secret liaison she should take personally and this wasn’t it.  She smiled and shook her head, “Please don’t be sorry.  Just make sure he’s okay and we’ll talk in the morning.”  Elspeth sauntered back up the stairs into her room and giggled when she got into bed.  She knew better than to meddle, but really hoped Lydia would regale her with stories at breakfast.

*****

Lydia was still sleeping when Elspeth woke up and so she put the kettle on and started rummaging through the pantry for some food.  They were low on supplies and so she munched on an apple and wrote in her journal while she waited for the kettle to boil.  She looked up when she heard Lydia come down the stairs.  Elspeth got up and poured two cups of tea.   Lydia smiled when she took the cup but when she sat down, she immediately started to apologize again.

Elspeth cut her short, “It’s fine.  I’m serious.”

“So you don’t care?”  Lydia looked relieved.

Elspeth shook her head, “I didn’t say I didn’t care.  I said you don’t have to apologize.  You can tell me all about it later.”

Lydia looked at her and laughed; she started to say something but was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.  Elspeth went over and answered.  It was Hrongar and she greeted him loudly and cheerfully, “HELLO!  Did you forget something?”

“Aren’t you funny!” he said, “My brother is requesting your presence at Dragonsreach within the hour.”  He paused and looked past Elspeth at Lydia who was looking away, toward the back of the house.  “I’m heading to Rorikstead,” he said, directing his gaze back to Elspeth.  “Have a safe trip if I don’t see you.”  It sounded almost forced and he turned away quickly, without checking to see if Lydia heard him.   Back at the table Lydia had her face buried in her arms.  “I’ll tell you everything on the way out of town, I promise.”

Elspeth smiled, “No worries.   Are you ready to leave here?  Balgruuf needs us for something.”

 *****

Balgruuf greeted them warmly when they arrived in the throne room, “It’s so good to see two you again.  I understand you are leaving Whiterun soon, but I have a task for you, suitable for your particular talents, Elspeth.  That is, if you can make the time.”

“Of course Jarl Balgruuf.  What can we do for you?” said Elspeth even though she had no idea about which talents he was speaking.  Lydia nodded in agreement.

“Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard.  He’s been working on a matter related to these dragons and…rumors of dragons.”

Balgruuf escorted them over to the wizard’s quarters where Farengar was studying some documents and muttering.   “Farengar,” said Balgruuf, “I think Elspeth and Lydia will be able to help you with your dragon project.”

“Oh yes, Elspeth,” replied Farengar, “She is capable.  And no brute mercenary either.  A thinker.  A bit of a scholar that one.  She hasn’t left for the College yet?”

“Apparently not,” said Balgruuf wondering if Farengar even noticed the women standing there, “Go ahead and fill them in all the details.”  As he turned to leave he winked at them and shook his head as if to say, ‘Good luck with him.’

“What do you need us to do Farengar,” asked Lydia, sounding somewhat impatient.

Farengar ignored Lydia and directed himself toward Elspeth, “So the Jarl thinks you can be of some use to me.  Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons.”  Farengar had a strong lisp and a manner of speaking that was both awkward and pretentious.  Elspeth could tell he wasn’t trying to be arrogant; he just didn’t really know how to converse in any other fashion.  It was just like so many mages that she once knew.   He continued, “Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.”  He paused and narrowed his eyes, “Well, when I say fetch, I mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

Much to Lydia’s dismay, Elspeth went on to ask Farengar about the dragon project.  Finally, after at least a half an hour of lecturing, he indicated that the ancient stone tablet, the dragonstone, which was said to depict a map of ancient dragon burial sites, was believed to be in Bleak Falls Barrow.

As they left Dragonsreach, Lydia shook her head at Elspeth and said, “I guess if he’s going to be your husband, you’re going to have to converse with him.”

“Shut up!”

Lydia giggled at the look of pretend horror that Elspeth was demonstrating and continued, “He’s going to fill your belly with magic Nord babies and—”

As they passed by the Gildergreen, Lydia’s teasing was interrupted by the squeals of Lars and Mila who were waiting for their dragon story.  Lydia went ahead to prepare for the trip to Riverwood while Elspeth scrambled to come up with something to tell the children that she hadn’t told the grown ups.  She decided to tell them about the brave little boy named Haming who helped get survivors to the keep.  Because he was little, he was able to fit into small spaces and open passages that were blocked from one side because of the damage.  Elspeth felt a twinge of guilt and sadness as she realized that she didn’t know if Haming made it out of Helgen at all.  The children, however, listened to her with rapt attention and Lars looked terribly disappointed when she said that she had to go.

At Breezehome, Lydia had filled their bags with supplies and after Elspeth found Gerdur’s armor, they headed out to Riverwood.  They were both quiet as they walked along the stream and past the meadery.  Elspeth walked with purpose, her face forward and serious while Lydia looked around nervously, waiting for a barrage of questions.  But the questions never came.  Finally, Lydia looked at her and said, “You really aren’t going to pry, are you?”

“Nope.”  Elspeth smiled.

“You aren’t even a little bit curious?”  Lydia was a little perplexed at Elspeth’s apparent lack of inquisitiveness.

“Oh, I am madly curious,” she responded to Lydia who was starting to look anxious.  Then she explained,  “I just know having one’s intimate life scrutinized is terribly unpleasant.”  After a few moments it occurred to Elspeth that Lydia, for some reason, could not simply divulge the details of her relationship unprompted and Elspeth couldn’t help but wonder how long had she been keeping this secret.  Finally, she said, “Lydia, tell me about you and Hrongar.”

The weight that was released upon being asked about Hrongar was palpable.  She took a deep breath and replied, “Hrongar left for several years to do some court missions and quests in Morrowind and Solstheim.  High Rock.  When he got back, Balgruuf assigned me as his housecarl.”

“I got the impression that Hrongar is also housecarl.”

“No one really knows what he does.”  Lydia stopped and rolled her eyes, “Actually, it’s quite simple.  When he’s in Dragonsreach, he supposed to act in a housecarl capacity.  Outside of Dragonsreach, he’s a thane.  But he never had his own housecarl until then.”  Lydia paused to adjust her armor and weapon.  Elspeth thought she might be stalling but she continued, “Before that I never had a thane.  I had short assignments with visiting noblemen and ambassadors.  I escorted a lot of missionaries around.  But most of the time I just hung around the Dragonsreach.  When I was assigned to Hrongar, everything changed.  We had long missions all over Skyrim.”  She smiled and continued, “It was fun.  We spent a lot of time together.  Alone.”

“Ah,” said Elspeth, “I see where this is going.  So, you’ve got a secret relationship with the Jarl’s brother and he’s upset that it’s no longer a secret?”  She was trying to make sense of the tension between them last night and this morning.

“No,” she sighed.  “He never wanted to be secretive, but I insisted.”

“Why?”

“My mother saved Nelkir’s life when he was born.  And then she died a couple months later.  Balgruuf said he could never thank her enough.  A couple years later when he made me a housecarl, I was so honored.  Just so very honored.  He never said as much, but I feel like he did it out of gratitude.  So, in addition to violating all standard court protocol, I felt Hrongar and I were violating a promise.”  She stopped and looked at Elspeth; her eyes were full of sadness and regret.  “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

Elspeth tried to offer a comforting smile and said, “No, it doesn’t make any sense to me but then, I’m not known for my adherence to etiquette and protocol.”  Lydia smirked at this, which made Elspeth happy.  “I do know a bit about promises though.”

“Now I’m no longer technically a member of the court and he wants to tell Balgruuf.  We argued about that last night after you went back to bed and he left angry.”  The look on her face was heartbreaking.

“What do you want?  Do you love him?”

Lydia inhaled.  There were tears in her eyes that she was trying desperately to keep back.  “Yes.  Well, I’ve known him my entire life.  He’s like Idolaf; he’s always been there.  I can’t imagine him not being… _there_.   But what happens when Balgruuf admonishes us for our behavior?  Is he going to forgive us after?  Is he going to throw one or both of us out in shame?  I couldn’t stand that.”  Lydia was sobbing now.  “And so I don’t know if my love for him is greater than my devotion to the Jarl.”

“I’m…sorry.”  Elspeth had no idea what else to say.

Lydia shook her head and wiped her face.  “You know, love in Skyrim tends to happen in one of two ways.  People either fall fast and commit forever or they get bored and cold and their bodies find each other.   And I don’t know what happens after that.”

“And you’re too scared to find out.”  It sounded almost accusatory and so Elspeth quickly prayed to Mara this wouldn’t offend her.

But Lydia agreed and she smiled and said, “I’m just so glad somebody knows.  Anyway, at some point I’ll either get the nerve to move forward or he’ll get the nerve to leave.  And then, I guess I’ll know what happens.”  Her eyes were still puffy but after that Lydia’s step seemed light and their conversation even lighter.  The remainder of the walk was fairly easy, with nary a wolf or bandit in sight and they arrived in Riverwood just as the sun was setting.


	12. Two of Us

“Since it’s not terribly late, I want to stop at Gerdur and Hod’s house before dinner,” said Elspeth as they rented a room at the Sleeping Giant Inn.  “I need to return the armor, but I also feel like they would be upset if they knew we ate and slept without seeing them first.”

“Yes, that sounds like typical Nord hospitality,” agreed Lydia.

“They are staunch Stormcloak supporters,” said Elspeth.  “Just so you know….”

“I’m not going to argue about the war,” Lydia assured her. “Besides—”

“I know, I know, you’re on the side of Whiterun,” Elspeth teased and Lydia laughed.  Elspeth looked serious for a moment and asked, “All your close friends, the Battle Borns—they are all loyal to the Empire.  If you weren’t in Balgruuf’s court, your allegiances would lie with them, no? Even Hrongar is comfortable making his support of the Empire clear.  And the Jarl’s his brother.”

 

Lydia looked thoughtful and after a few moments she said, “One advantage to serving in the court and deferring to Balgruuf in all matters of politics and war is that I never have to defend the fact that I don’t entirely disagree with the Stormcloaks.”

“Really?”  Elspeth was somewhat surprised to hear this.  Even Runa, who had seen some of the worst of what the Emperor and the Thalmor could do, remained committed to the idea of Empire—even if she thought Titus Mede was a milk-drinking coward.

“It’s no longer a cause I would take up arms for, but it’s not without merit either.  Self rule.  Free worship of Talos.  I understand the appeal.”

“If it has merit, why not fight for it?”

“I considered it, briefly.  But then I met Rundil, an Altmer priest, in Falkreath and all those ideals faded.  I had escorted a priestess to his chapel and he asked me to recover his journal from a cave.  I got stuck in that cave while there was a storm and I got bored and….” Lydia suddenly looked very guilty.

“And…” Elspeth prompted.

“I read the journal,” she confessed.  “And I found out that for some reason he was terrified of the Thalmor.  And it dawned on me that Ulfric Stormcloak wants Skyrim for the Nords, and _only the Nords_.  Would he be willing to make Skyrim safe for mer and beasts and anyone else who feared and hated the Thalmor?  And as much as I hate to admit it—and I’ve never said it to his face—Idolaf is right.  Right now, the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion’s army from taking over Skyrim, even if they have to uphold that awful treaty to do it.”

Elspeth lowered her voice and smirked, “Maybe the Stormcloaks should join forces with my mother’s dissident elves.  They could get rid of the Empire  _and_  the Thalmor.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?”  Lydia laughed at the thought.  Then she looked at Elspeth and asked quietly, “Do you think your mother has an army?”  She was curious about the rumors but was unsure of how to broach the subject.  Elspeth didn’t discuss her mother’s political activities often.

“I have no idea.  The last thing I heard is that she wrote another pamphlet and two of her mages were executed after trying to poison a justiciar in Imperial City.  She and her mages like to make things difficult for the Thalmor, but whether she is the insurrectionist leader she’s made out to be, I don’t know and, of course, Xeri wouldn’t let me find out,” Elspeth used an exaggerated tone for this last comment, which was intended to emphasize its obviousness.

“I can’t believe she didn’t let you go back to Frostcraig Village. Even…” Lydia paused.  She wasn’t entirely sure that she should continue although it was too late.  Elspeth knew what she was getting at. “…after what happened at Arcane University.”

They were outside the inn and walking through town now.  Elspeth swallowed hard and looked around, shaking her head.  She took a deep breath and replied, “No.  And I considered going anyway.  On the night I planned to sneak out, Runa caught me and talked me down.  She reminded me that Xeri, although obstinate and aggressive, comes from a long line of Dumner wise women and warriors and I needed to trust her.  Because my parents did.  And she did.”

“And you trusted Runa.”

“More than anyone in the world.  Your aunt took good care of me,” said Elspeth.

Lydia smiled upon hearing this and just as she was about to respond, she was interrupted by a man calling out, “Elspeth!  You’re back!”  It was Hod and he hurried up the road to meet them.

Just as she anticipated, Hod and Gerdur were happy to see her again and offered up their home.  They declined the invitation to sleep there but Gerdur insisted that they stay for dinner.  Over bowls of hot beef stew and mugs of mead, Frodnar entertained them with stories of his latest pranks, which included gluing the teats of a local woman’s cow together with glue.  Elspeth and Lydia cringed while Gerdur shook her head and Hod encouraged the young lad.

When Elspeth asked about Ralof, Gerdur said that he stayed longer than he originally planned.  Hadvar and another Imperial soldier passed through soon after she’d left.  They spent a couple days recovering at Alvor’s house and so Ralof couldn’t leave until they were gone.  Gerdur tried to assure Elspeth that Ralof was fine and probably settled back in Windhelm or at one of the Stormcloak camps but it was obvious that she was worried about her little brother.

After dinner they returned to the Sleeping Giant Inn and in the morning stopped at the Riverwood Trader, where they heard the shop’s proprietor, Lucan Valerius, arguing with his sister Camilla, as they entered.

“I said no!  No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!”

“Well, what are you going to do about it then, huh?” she asked angrily.  “Let’s hear it.”

“We are done talking about this,” said Lucan firmly and then, as if he’d been startled by Elspeth and Lydia, exclaimed “Oh! Customers. I don’t know what you heard.  But the Riverwood Trader is still open.  Feel free to shop.”

“Did something happen?” asked Lydia as she looked around.

“Yes…well, we did have a break-in,” he admitted.  “But we still have plenty to sell; the robbers were only after one thing, a solid gold ornament shaped like a dragon’s claw.  I am almost certain it was taken by the bandits who are holed up in Bleak Falls Barrow.”

Elspeth mentioned that they were on their way to Bleak Falls and offered to retrieve his ornament.  Lucan promised a reward if they brought it back.  When they were back outside Lydia commented that their errand was turning out to be potentially more profitable than anticipated, “We should go treasure hunting more.  Then we could have Eorland Grey Mane forge us new armor and I could afford to have Farengar enchant mine.”

Elspeth smirked, “Not mine?”

“When Farengar is your husband, he’ll enchant it for free,” she teased.

“I am never going to hear the end of this am I?”  Elspeth laughed.

The walk to Bleak Stone Barrow was long and snowy but the cold air seemed to invigorate them both. As they approached the barrow, they caught their first bandit in a watchtower; he was no match for the combination of Lydia’s archery and Elspeth’s lightening spell.  Lydia checked him for the ornament and took all his money.  Elspeth was astonished at the casual way she looted the dead body.  “We’ll give some to the temple,” Lydia reassured her.  “Plus, it’s better to get the money back into commerce.”

“For Skyrim!” said Elspeth facetiously.

As they approached the steps leading up the entrance of the barrow they moved stealthily, stopping when they overheard another bandit: “So we’re just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?”

Elspeth nodded to Lydia and the two ambushed the bandits.  Elspeth took hers down quickly while the second one fell back trying to dodge Lydia’s axe. “I surrender!” he exclaimed and Lydia grabbed and disarmed him.  She held her axe to the bandit’s neck, “Who is Arvel and where did he take the claw?”

“I-I-Into the b-b-barrow,” he said.  He was terrified.  “Will you let me go?”  Lydia kicked the dagger over to Elspeth and stripped him down to his woolies before letting him stagger off down the mountain.

“Are you sure that was such a good idea?” asked Elspeth.  “What if he comes back with some friends?”

Lydia considered this.  “He might,” she conceded.  “But it’s getting late.  We’ve a few hours before he’ll even get down the mountain, if the wolves don’t eat him alive.

“I’m keeping this dagger,” Elspeth said.  It was dwarven and reminded her of the dagger she had for years back in Cyrodill, the one she used for skinning animals and other practical tasks that kept her alive in the mountains.  It had been a gift from Shazir, the captain of Bruma fighter’s guild and it was among the possessions that the Imperials had taken when they arrested her.

They entered the barrow cautiously and Lydia tossed the bandit’s armor aside.   The barrow was surprisingly well lit, which could only mean more bandits.  And possibly marauders.   In the open temple they took a couple of lookouts down and then proceeded cautiously to the lower levels of the barrow.  The lower levels comprised twisted tunnels filled with tree roots, rooms containing burial urns, and a room with a puzzle that required solving before they could continue.

The puzzle room led to a round room with a spiral staircase leading down to what appeared to be a skeever nest and then into an embalming room.  “Ugh!” said Lydia as she started cutting through some large spider webs.  “Watch out for frostbite spiders.”

As they made their way down the hall, they heard a voice calling out: “Is someone coming?  Is that you Harknir? Bjorn?  Soling?”  The voice belonged to a Dunmer who was trapped in a spider web.

And sure enough, from the ceiling dropped the largest spider Elspeth had ever seen.  They killed the spider easily enough although both took a bit of venom.  In the meantime, the Dunmer twisting the web was calling out to them, “You did it!  You killed it!  Now cut me down before anything else shows up.”

“Do you have the golden claw?” asked Lydia.

“Yes, yes I have it.  Cut me down and it’s yours.”

Lydia looked for a way to cut the claw out of his pocket, but it was impossible.  She looked at Elspeth and shrugged her shoulders.  She cut him down and, to no one’s surprise, the thief ran off.  They ran after him and caught up to his dead body and two draugr, which they took care of easily.  They recovered the claw and moved on, confronting several more draugr as they made their way to another puzzle room.

At the end of a long, narrow room was a huge doorway with three moveable stone rings surrounding three small holes into which the prongs—or, fingers—on the golden claw fit perfectly.  Elspeth determined that the engraved images on the claw, a bear, moth, and owl, were identical ones on the moveable stone rings on the door and she and Lydia lined them up in the same order.   The door opened and they took a staircase up to an open cavern that appeared devoid of draugr—that is, until a one burst from a sarcophagus at the far end of the room.

This one was larger and far, far more powerful than the ones they had encountered earlier—it was a scourge lord. He threw Lydia clear across the room without even touching her.  It took all of Elspeth’s magic but she finally defeated him.  After she helped Lydia, they inspected the draugr and found the dragonstone.  Elspeth also picked up his weapon, a beautiful ebony sword.

“Are you going to keep that?” asked Lydia.

“I don’t think so.  I don’t mind keeping a bandit’s weapon but taking a warrior’s weapon somehow feels wrong.”

Lydia shook her head and explained, “You bested him.   Also, the draugr aren’t the honored dead.  They betrayed the Nords by serving the dragons. Take it.  You made out nicely today.”  She grinned.

Elspeth looked up and walked back toward the sarcophagus, approaching a massive wall with engravings, the likes of which she had never seen anywhere.  There also appeared to be a message, in a script she could not identify.  Regardless, she felt an overwhelming need to read the wall and as she examined the script, moving her hand across the carvings, she heard a deep hollow sound and felt a vibration in her head.   She turned to Lydia, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”  Lydia looked around.  She was up by the wall now.  “Some believe this is writing is the ancient dragon language.”

Elspeth started to describe the sound but stopped and shook her head.  “You know a lot about dragon lore.”

“A bit,” she said, “I spent a lot of time reading in Dragonsreach before I was out traveling with Hrongar.”  She looked around some more.  “Come on,” she said, “I think we can get out this way.”

It was well past midnight when they arrived back at the Sleeping Giant Inn.  In the morning they returned the claw to Lucan who paid them a generously.   Later that evening, back in Dragonsreach, they found Farengar engaged in an intense discussion with a woman.  Ancient texts.  First era.  Dragon war.  Lydia cleared her throat.

Again, Farengar looked right past Lydia to Elspeth.  “Hmm? Ah, yes, the Jarl’s protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn’t die, it seems.”

“Here is your dragonstone,” said Elspeth as she handed the stone over.

“Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You already found it! You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way.”  Farengar was thrilled.  “My associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me.”  He gestured to the woman he had been speaking with.

The woman turned to them, “You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?  Nice work.”

Elspeth and Lydia nodded and left to find Proventus who was in the throne area talking with Balgruuf.  “Thank you!” said Balgruuf.  “Farengar tells me that the dragonstone is essential to his research.”  He paused.  “I suppose this means you are leaving Whiterun now.”  He looked slightly bothered by this and Elspeth couldn’t tell if he was irritated or sad.

When they returned to Breezehome they counted all their coin.  It was more than Elspeth had ever had to her name.  They had enough now for at least two months of traveling, boarding, bribing, eating, and drinking.  The next morning they would take the early carriage out of Whiterun.


	13. Analepsis B

When Runa found Xeri, she was by the statue of Maeve Sigeweald, the Champion of Cyrodill, the hero of the Oblivion Crisis, and Elspeth’s ancestor.  Xeri was contemplating the last ten years and trying to figure out exactly where she went wrong.

“Do you think that Elspeth is inspired by her?” asked Xeri.  She didn’t look at Runa; she just crossed her arms and stared forward.

Runa could tell that Xeri felt disheartened and so she took a deep breath and tried to think of something encouraging.  She paused for several moments and finally said, “No.”  Runa knew, better than anyone else, that while Elspeth understood her family’s history, she felt little, if any, affinity with her legacy.

Xeri looked at her sharply with her lips pursed and brow furrowed.  But she couldn’t hold the look.  As defensive as she felt momentarily, she knew that Runa was right.  She dropped her head and sighed.  To Runa she looked defeated and Xeri Tharys did not accept defeat.

“What’s on your mind Xeri?” asked Runa.

 

“I’m at a loss,” she responded.  “I don’t know what to do with her.”  There was a long silence but Runa was patient.  This conversation was long overdue.  Xeri continued,   “You know, I remember the day that Elspeth was born.   Nirn shook below my feet and there was joy.  Bedyn and Evangeline had not had a joyous day in so long.”

Every word seemed to be chosen carefully; Xeri was not a sentimental woman.  Runa nodded slowly, offering nothing more than gentle encouragement.  She knew that this had to be incredibly difficult.

“That night I went to sleep and I woke to a vision, just like the ones my mother and grandmothers described to me as a child.  It was so clear to me then, that Elspeth was special.  Important.  That she would play a pivotal role—a healing role.”  Xeri paused and looked intently at Runa, “Did you know that I was never supposed to have the gift of vision?”

Runa didn’t know this.  She was quite familiar with rest of the story, but Xeri wasn’t inclined to call her talents into question.  Other people’s, yes; but not her own.  Runa shook her head cautiously.   Xeri trusted her and it was clear that she needed to confide in someone.  But Runa also knew that one wrong glance, one misspoken word could turn Xeri’s vulnerability back to her stone cold warrior posture.

“I knew that her path was different from Evangeline’s.  I knew that I needed to prepare her,” she continued.  “And so we brought her here.”   Runa realized that Xeri was taking stock of the last decade.  “We’ve worked so hard—all of us.  Until this point, I was absolutely certain about every decision right down to the type of combat and magic training.”  She stopped and stared forward again.

“She has the skills she needs.” Runa spoke very deliberately. “Now she needs an objective.  She doesn’t feel inspired by her legacy because she doesn’t have purpose.”

“I thought what happened at Arcane University was the sign, the trigger that would set it all in motion.  But Titus Mede, once again, just bent over and took it from his Thalmor puppet masters.  I was left—nay,  _we_ were left with a young women full of rage and sadness.”  Xeri’s voice was cracking and Runa thought she might cry.  “And so I did the only thing I knew, I brought her to the mountains and tried to exorcise her pain with combat training.”  She paused and asked, “Do you think I made a mistake?”

Runa considered this carefully.  To say that she approved wholeheartedly of Xeri’s methods would be a lie.  Regardless of this, however, Xeri was good at what she did.  She created warriors and Elspeth was on her way to becoming a remarkable one.

“You are a good mentor, Xeri.  Elspeth is well trained.”  Runa had never before felt the need to reassure Xeri.  But she had watched the Dunmer’s confidence and composure dwindle in the months since she had returned from Morrowind—from a trip she had hoped would give her some clarity.  She had remained unwavering toward Elspeth and her training, but Runa could sense her growing anxiety.  “What did the wise woman tell you?”

Xeri smirked and shook her head, “Nothing I didn’t already know.   _Send her back the way of the father_.  That came to me in my last vision.  I had already brought her to the fighter’s guild, to the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple.  I brought her to Chorrol and to the Chapel of Stendarr.  I showed her where he fought with other Blades in the war.  I took her to all the important places in Bedyn’s life—and even some of the less important ones.  The wise woman couldn’t—or  _didn’t_ —interpret it any better.”

“So, she didn’t help.  How did Elspeth like Morrowind?”

“She hated it.  But I expected as much.  Shargon Hills is filled with nothing but refugee and nomadic Dunmeri tribal camps.”  Xeri squatted down and buried her face in her arms.  There was something she was holding back, something painful.

Runa knelt and touched her shoulder, “What is it?”

“The wise woman said something else.”  Xeri kept her head down.  “She said that Elspeth was following the wrong elf.”

“What!” Runa was astonished to hear his, although it explained Xeri’s growing unease and insecurity of late.  “How can that be correct?  That doesn’t make any sense.  Did she tell Elspeth that?”

“No, she didn’t talk to Elspeth.  Anyway, she couldn’t tell me who or where the correct elf is, she just—” Xeri stopped, her eyes grew wide, and she shot straight up so she was standing and staring at the statue again.  Her face lit up, betraying an epiphany.  “Nerussa.”  She was almost shaking with excitement, “It’s been staring me in the face all this time.  We have to find Nerussa—NO!  Elspeth needs to find Nerussa.”

Runa did not want to dampen Xeri’s sudden enthusiasm, but she was skeptical.  “Well,” she said slowly, “Nerussa was the Sigeweald family steward for over two hundred years.  She would certainly know the path of her father.  But last we heard, she was evading the Thalmor.  We don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

“No,” agreed Xeri, “but I know someone who might.  I have to go to Chorrol.  Nerussa had been very close to the court wizard, Safiya.  Tell Elspeth when she gets back—wait, don’t tell her anything yet.  Shazir will run drills with her while I’m gone.  I’m going to the castle to see Countess Muriel and Safiya.”

*****

Xeri rode all night and arrived at Castle Chorrol the next morning.  She was met by Alexa, the court steward and then greeted by a very surprised countess who was pleased to see her but remained reserved.  Although Xeri had been back to Chorrol in recent years, she had kept her distance from the court.  As far as Muriel knew, Xeri was trying to reestablish herself as a mentor and trainer and was now associated with the Fighter’s Guild in Bruma.  She knew that Xeri had charges, but she did not know about Elspeth.

“Xeri Tharys,” she said, “To what do we owe this surprise?”  She held out her hand.

Xeri took her hand and offered a brief but courteous nod.  “I would like to speak with Safiya, if she is still in your service.”

“Of course,” said the countess.  “I’m sure she will be pleasantly surprised to see you.  Could I ask why you wish to see her?”

Xeri looked at all the people wandering around the Great Hall.  “To be honest, I would rather not say.  But if you insist, it would be best if we all talked in private.”  After so many had turned their backs on her, Countess Muriel’s father, the former Count Rufus, was one of the few who had been vocal in his support of Evangeline during the events leading up to her exile.  However, Xeri was unsure if Muriel shared her father’s political leanings.

Muriel agreed to this and asked Alexa to suspend court activities for an hour.  She led Xeri up to the private quarters and into the wizard’s suite, where Safiya and her apprentice, a young Bosmer, were studying an enchantment on an old dwemer dagger.  When Safiya saw Xeri standing there she gasped and clapped her hands together, “Xeri!”

Xeri smiled, “It’s good to see you again Safiya, I regret that it has been so long.  I have an urgent matter to discuss and I need you to excuse your apprentice here.”

“I’m so glad to see that you still don’t mince words,” said Safiya.  “Dany, why don’t you take those spell books over to the mages guild.  I will see you after elevenses.”

When she was gone, the three women sat down and Xeri said, “I need to know if Nerussa is still alive and, if she is, where I can find her.”

Muriel and Safiya looked at each other and then back at Xeri.  Muriel shook her head and looked sternly at them, “I think I will leave you both to your business.  It is a pleasure to have you back in Chorrol Xeri.”  Her tone was flat and this last sentence sounded forced.

When she left Xeri turned to Safiya and asked, “What is going on?”

Safiya closed her eyes and shook her head.  “Xeri, if you are surprised—”

“I’m not surprised, but I want to know what is going on.  Do you know where Nerussa is?  Is there a specific reason why Muriel does not want to be here?”

“Xeri, what did you expect to find out here?”

“You were Nerussa’s closest friend in Chorrol.  I was hoping that, if you don’t know where she is, you could point me to where I might start looking for her.  Where would she go?  What other associates did she have?”

“Why?  Are you still working with Evangeline?  Are you hoping to recruit Nerussa for that rebellion of hers?  Don’t you realize how dangerous that is?”  Safiya’s tone was suspicious and accusatory.  In her zeal to find out about Nerussa for Elspeth’s sake, Xeri had not considered that her motives would be called into question.  For years, Nerussa and Xeri had both been committed to the Sigeweald family, but with Bedyn dead and Evangeline’s anti-Thalmor campaign (the size and strength of which were still a mystery to most) gaining notoriety, Safiya’s misgivings were not entirely misplaced.

Xeri was slightly thrown by this, but she didn’t let it show.  Safiya was not wrong to question Xeri’s objectives, but Xeri had no intention of wavering.  Indeed, she only intensified her approach.  “I would think that after what the Thalmor did to your family, that you would want to help Evangeline’s cause.”  It was manipulative, but Xeri was not above such methods.

Safiya was stunned silent.  When she recovered, she was furious, “It is because of what the Thalmor did to my family that I am unwilling to give you any information about Nerussa.” She stared angrily and continued, “I think you should probably leave now.”  And then she paused and after a few moments said, “You know, I would have been willing to help.  I know plenty of anti-Thalmor mages, students whose families and friends were either purged or who continue to be persecuted—who are aching for a chance to fight the Thalmor.  I just don’t understand why you want to bother Nerussa.  After everything she’s been through—” Safiya’s voice was trembling with fury.  She got up, “I really think you need to leave.”  Her anger was now accompanied by anxiety and she started rearranging all the books on her shelves.

Xeri smiled inwardly.  Now she knew she could trust Safiya and so she began to explain, “I am no longer in Evangeline’s service.  I haven’t been since Bedyn was killed.  It is not for Evangeline that I seek Nerussa.”  She moved closer to Safiya.

“Then, for whom?”  Safiya asked, turning slightly to observe the change in Xeri’s tone and posture.

Xeri looked directly into her eyes and answered, “Their daughter.  I’ve had her in my care for over a decade now.”

Safiya’s eyes widened and she brought her hands up to her face, dropping the books she was holding on the floor.  “Oh my gods,” she exclaimed.   Then she glared at Xeri again, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.”  Xeri shook her head and said,  “I needed to make sure I could trust you.  If word of her existence got to the Thalmor….”

“You’re right of course,” she agreed after a few moments.  “Listen, to court questions of Nerussa’s existence is to invite trouble with the Thalmor.  And that is why Muriel left.  She would like to follow in her father’s footsteps but she lacks the courage of his convictions. Anyway, for you I will make an exception and tell you everything I know.   _Only_  because Nerussa would insist upon knowing that the Sigeweald lineage continues.”

“Thank you.”

“So help me gods Xeri if you are lying!”

“I am a lot of things, but I am not a liar.”

“All right then.”  Safiya took a set of keys from her pocket and unlocked a chest on the far end of the room.  She rifled through some papers and brought out an envelope.  “When they captured Chorrol, the Thalmor torched most of the archive.  And after Mede agreed to banish Evangeline and Bedyn, they came back and finished destroying the family’s library, all of Nerussa’s papers.  However, many year ago she wrote me once to let me know that she was alive and that she was in Skyrim, at the college.”  She handed the letter to Xeri.  “She didn’t sign it.  But I know her script and the letter makes reference to some shared private knowledge–in the guise of general knowledge, of course.”

Xeri glanced over the note.  There were few, if any, identifying details.  It read as letter of general information from one mage to another.  “So, this is it?”  She sighed.

“I wish I had something else.  Will you be seeking her yourself?”

“No,” said Xeri.  “I am actually sending Bedyn’s daughter.”

“Is she a mage?”

Yes.  She specializes in destruction magic, but she is also quite talented in restoration and alteration.”

“Good,” Safiya smiled.  “She should be able to access the college easily enough.  Nerussa had some academic interests she likely pursued at the college—out of both sincere intellectual curiosity and to maintain a disguise.  She might have left notes of her research in the college’s archive.”

“This isn’t a lot to go on, but I appreciate it.  Thank you,” said Xeri.

“You do realize that this will not be an easy task.  If she’s still alive, she likely left the college long ago.  Your protégé may have quite a journey ahead of her.”

Xeri nodded, “I’ve prepared her for that.”

“What will you do in the interim?” She narrowed her eyes at Xeri.

“Wait, I suppose,” she replied.  “Why?”  Xeri noted that Safiya’s tone was suddenly very inquisitive and it was her turn to be suspicious.

“I know some angry mages,” she said.  “I’d like to find something for them to do.  Once you your charge is on her way to Skyrim, maybe you could help me find someplace for them to go.”


	14. As Madmen Play on Words

_This chapter is dedicated to the memory of my Grandpa Joe._

*****

They decided to stop for the night in Windhelm.  Lydia wanted to break up the long carriage ride and Elspeth hoped to see Ralof.  The weather turned very cold, very suddenly as they approached the city and Elspeth was envious of Lydia whose natural cold resistance made her impervious to the winter winds.  Once again, she was immensely grateful for the cloak the Idolaf had given her and she wrapped it around tightly as she and Lydia disembarked the carriage by the stables and made their way over the immense stone bridge.  By some accounts, Windhelm was the oldest city in Skyrim and Elspeth was overwhelmed by the old stone walls and archways as they walked up to the entrance.

As they walked into the city, Elspeth saw two large Nord men who appeared to be harassing a Dunmer woman.  As they approached, they could hear one of the men shouting, “You come here where you’re not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks.”

 

“But we haven’t taken a side because it’s not our fight,” she protested.

“Maybe the reason they haven’t taken a side is because they are all imperial spies,” said the other.

“Imperial spies!” she responded in disbelief.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe we’ll pay you a visit tonight, little spy.  We got ways of finding out what you really are.”

Elspeth was furious for this woman.  She looked at Lydia whose eyes were angrily fixed on the men.  They stepped up their pace to confront them but before they could, another large Nord pushed himself between the two men. “Rolff, I think your brother is looking for you.”  He wasn’t much taller than either of them but in his armor, he was far more imposing.  The men glared at him but after a moment they backed down and walked away slowly, still scowling at the Dunmer woman.

“Thank you, Brunwulf,” she said.

“Take care Suvaris,” he replied as he shifted his gaze toward Elspeth and Lydia.  He narrowed his eyes and asked Lydia, “You one of those ‘Skyrim for the Nords’ types?”

“What?” Lydia was taken aback at the question, “Of course not!  I think Skyrim should welcome everyone.”

“And you’re right, at least as far as I’m concerned.” Brunwulf looked at Elspeth and smiled, “Listen, don’t let Ulfric or some of these other short-sighted Nords bother you. Most of us are happy to welcome newcomers.”  He extended his hand, “I’m Brunwulf Free Winter.”

“I’m Elspeth and this is Lydia of Whiterun,” she said they shook his hand.

“You two look resourceful.  Are you looking for work by any chance?”

“Sure,” responded Lydia, “We could always use a little more coin.”

“A group of bandits raided a nearby Dunmer settlement and Jarl Ulfric can’t be bothered to do anything about it,” explained Brunwulf.  “They’re at Uttering Hills Cave.”

“We’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow morning,” said Lydia.

As they walked on to Candlehearth Hall, Elspeth turned to Lydia and said, “You know, when I was younger, I used to comfort myself by thinking that not all Dunmer were like Xeri.  But when I see something like that, I wish they were.  Xeri would have cut that prat’s head right off.”

At the tavern they got a room for the evening, where they left their bags, and changed out of their armor before heading upstairs.  The upper level had tall ceilings and a large stone fireplace on which a candle—said to have been lit centuries before and never burned out—sat.  The hall was full and Elspeth was pleased to see, despite the confrontation earlier, that the crowd comprised both men and elves.

As if she could read her mind Lydia leaned over and said, “It’s nice to see that even in Windhelm drink and song can bring everyone together.”

“For now,” said Elspeth.  She was wondering how long it would be before the revelry gave way to drunken belligerence.

“So cynical!” said Lydia, smirking.

“Perhaps,” agreed Elspeth.  “But even the taverns in Bruma couldn’t go a night without a brawl started over politics.”  She looked around for a place to sit and approached a table with two men in Stormcloak garb and a couple of empty chairs.  “Can we sit here?”

The Stormcloak soldiers smiled and nodded.  Their names were Viik and Jakov and they were happy to have somecompany.  When they were settled in with some mead and food, Elspeth inquired about Ralof.

“How do you know Ralof?” asked Jakov.

“We met in Helgen,” she responded.

“You were in Helgen!?!  When the dragon attacked?” Viik asked in disbelief.

“Yes I was.  Ralof helped me escape.  Is he here?”

“Wow,” he said, leaning back.  “I’m impressed.  Unfortunately, Ralof isn’t in Windhelm.  He’s been assigned to a camp in the Pale.  If you join up, I can bring you to see him.”  He winked at her.

“Not this time,” said Lydia, “We’re just passing through.  We have business in Winterhold.”

Jakov started to say something but was distracted by someone making a ruckus behind Lydia.  He rolled his eyes and said, “Oh good, Rolff Stone Fist is here to brag about his adventures in the Grey Quarter bothering the elves.”

“You don’t approve?” asked Elspeth.

“I just think that we should focus on making Skyrim independent from the Empire and restoring Talos, not acting like loutish fools, especially around people just trying to live their lives—even if they happen to be elves.”  Jakov threw back the rest of his mead; he seemed somewhat uncomfortable although no one was showing any disapproval.

“You’re an idealist!” said Elspeth in a tone that was somehow both accusatory and elated.  “I know someone like that.”  She gestured slightly toward Lydia and grinned, which put him back at ease although it was pretty clear he was done talking about politics.  “Lydia!” Elspeth exclaimed.  “Do you have dice?”

“I always have dice,” she said, reaching into her pocket.

“Let’s get the idealist drunk.”

*****

 They left for Uttering Hills Cave the next morning after breakfast.  They were delayed somewhat by an Imperial named Adonato Leotelli, a writer of drama, who wanted—desperately it seemed—to converse about “the legends and history of Skyrim” of which he wrote.  They declined his request to deliver his new book,  _Olaf and the Dragon_ , to the Bard’s college although Lydia promised to read it.  She might read it eventually, but at the time she just wanted him to stop nattering on about Nord folklore.

It was cold and cloudy but considerably less windy than the day before.  The route to the cave was fairly straightforward.  They ambushed the lookouts positioned at the camp set up at the cave’s entrance. Inside, the first part of the cave was well-lit and wide open, which made stealth attacks on the first bandits somewhat difficult.  Further inside, they discovered that the cave once housed a dungeon.   Lydia and Elspeth took their time, working through the barracks, carefully noting all the possible hiding spaces, and waiting in the shadows when necessary.  Several hours had passed when they finally confronted and defeated the bandit leader.

Back in Windhelm, they were approached by a couple of elves who thanked them profusely for assisting Brunwulf with their affairs.  An Altmer woman said, “Brunwulf is also a war hero you know.  He fought in the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion.”  The woman sighed and shook her head.  “You would think that would mean something to someone like Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Brunwulf was pleased to see them and offered up mead while he got their coin.  His house was tidy and pleasant Elspeth felt it lacked the inviting warmth and comfort of the places she visited in Whiterun and Riverwood.  She surmised that while many in Windhelm held him in high esteem, they probably also kept their distance.  “The elves in Windhelm have a great deal of respect and admiration for you.”

“I’m only doing what needs to be done.” Brunwulf smiled modestly.

“They told us that you fought in the Great War,” said Elspeth.  When she was younger she’d been taught to question the official accounts of the Great War, the ones approve and disseminated by Imperial and Thalmor approved writers.  As a result, she often sought out veterans for their personal stories.

“ _The Great War_ ,” he said scathingly.  “There was nothing great about it. Thousands died on both sides and where did we end up? Did we really save the Empire or did we just plant the seeds for Ulfric’s uprising and another war?”  Brunwulf shook his head and took a sip of his mead.

“So, because the outcome is less than ideal, is there no room for honor and valor?” asked Lydia, trying not to sound too antagonistic.  She wasn’t naïve about war and the precarious state of things in Skyrim.  But she was someone who believed in and needed heroes.

“There’s no glory in war. It’s just something they tell soldiers so they’ll risk their lives.”

“The Altmer woman we met called you a hero,” protested Lydia.

“I’m no hero,” said Brunwulf sadly.  “I’m just a soldier who didn’t want to die.”

Lydia thought about this while Elspeth simply nodded.  She hugged her bent legs up to her chest and rested her head on her knees.  She looked distressed.

Lydia looked over but before she could say anything, Brunwulf frowned and said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” said Elspeth.  “You remind me of m—”  She stopped suddenly and after a moment continued, “You remind me of someone I once knew.  He used to tell war stories, but not of valor and honor.  Even his positive stories were—” she paused and took a deep breath before continuing.  “He told me that the worst thing he ever saw was when he was part of a raid on the prison camps the Thalmor had set up in Hammerfell.  There were soldiers that had been there for over a year; they were starving.  They brought them into a camp just over the border, where they had food spread out.  He said he saw more soldiers die gorging themselves on the food than he had in the battle they fought to get them out.”

“Oh my gods,” said Lydia as she covered her mouth with her hand.  Brunwulf just nodded, but inwardly he was very happy to have met the young women, especially Elspeth.  In his experience, young people who grasped the terrible reality of war and conflict were few and far between.  She gave him some hope and warmed his war-wearied heart.

They thanked Brunwulf for the mead and promised to stop in when they came by way of Windhelm again.  As they made their way back to Candlehearth Hall Lydia asked, “Who told you that war story?”

“My father,” said Elspeth.

“I thought so,” Lydia said.  Her voice was thoughtful and darker than usual.

“All of his stories of heroics came with a dark side.  And when we got to Bruma, Xeri took over as storyteller.  Needless to say her recollection was slightly more, um, spirited.”  Elspeth paused and added, “But not less realistic.”

Back at Candlehearth Hall they settled in for the evening although neither felt much like sleeping.  Lydia was mulling over Brunwulf’s opinions on war and Bedyn’s story.  Elspeth felt nervous about the College.  Whiterun, Riverwood, and Windhelm had been productive and interesting stops on her quest and tomorrow the real work of finding Nerussa, or of what happened to her, would start and she was starting to feel somewhat apprehensive.


	15. I've Just Seen a Face

An hour into the trip to Winterhold they hit a huge snowstorm, which slowed the carriage down considerably.  When they finally arrived, even Lydia was uncomfortable, her muscles having become stiff during the long journey of starts and stops.

“Next time, let’s walk,” suggested Elspeth.  “We’ll be just as cold but at least then we won’t have to stop.”

“There’s the Nord spirit I knew my aunt instilled in you!” Lydia chuckled and then glared in the direction of the city.  “Ugh…this place is so dismal.”

Lydia had told her all about the storms that culminated in The Great Collapse and had devastated Winterhold 80 years ago, but Elspeth was still shocked at how bleak the city appeared.  In all that time no one had made any attempts at restoration and only a tavern and a single merchant remained within the sparsely populated city.  The college, however, was unscathed by the collapse and it towered over the city—visible even in the storm.  Elspeth found the contrast between the imposing college and the desolate city utterly depressing.

They were tired and hungry so they opted to visit the college in the morning.  Dagur, the proprietor of The Frozen Hearth, the local inn and tavern, was happy to welcome them and even more so when Lydia mentioned that she would be calling on the Jarl for work.   “We have so few people come who are not affiliated with the college,” he explained.  “Jarl Korir will be pleased to make your acquaintance and certainly has tasks that have accumulated over the years.”

The inn was quiet with only three patrons sitting and drinking by themselves.  After a while, Eirid, Dagur’s daughter, sat down at their table and asked if they would play cards with her.   She was a sweet little girl who, despite having the Jarl’s son as a playmate, was obviously very lonely.  “He always wants to play ‘Hunt the Elf,’ and he makes me be the elf,” she said sadly.

“Dagur and I have discussed putting an end to this game,” came a voice from behind them.  It was Haran, Eirid’s mother and Dagur’s wife.  “The Jarl despises the college and the mages.  Many of them are elves.  We don’t need him breeding resentment toward our best—nay, our only—customers.”  She grinned as she swept around the table, happy that someone was distracting Eirid.

Lydia smiled back and said, “Well, Elspeth and I are always happy to meet new people in the cities we visit.”  She turned to Eirid and said, “We can teach you lots of games too.  And Elspeth tells great stories.”  Eirid was delighted to hear this and they stayed up well past her bedtime playing Beggar thy Neighbor and Old Maid.  Elspeth admired the ease with which Lydia and Eirid interacted.  She sounded so much like Runa and it made her a little homesick.

It was still snowing the next morning when they woke up and Elspeth really didn’t want to get out of bed.  She puttered around the room after donning the robe she purchased from Farengar.  It had been well over a year since she’d worn an enchanted robe and the increased energy felt foreign and somewhat uncomfortable.  When Lydia returned to the room she looked Elspeth up and down and laughed.  “I’m sorry,” she said although Elspeth only appeared annoyed, not hurt.  “You just look so…tiny and unimposing in that thing.”

“Yes, well there’s a reason Xeri made me put the battle before mage,” said Elspeth as she shifted around uncomfortably.  “I really prefer armor.  And steel.”  She paused and added, “Don’t tell Idolaf.”

Lydia smirked and looked quizzically at her, “Really?”

“No, I just feel naked without them,” she explained as she gathered up her bag.  “You know, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Are you kidding?  When am  _I_  going to have another chance to inspect the college?”  Lydia was actually very excited at the prospect of seeing the college.  She had always been fascinated by magic but apart from Battle Cry and a novice healing spell, she never had the aptitude for it—at least not according to Farengar who managed to teach her the healing spell before unceremoniously declaring her incapable of practicing magic.  In return, Lydia declared him incapable of teaching.  They’ve not gotten along since.

The storm was still going strong when they left the inn.  At the entrance to the college Faralda, a tall Altmer woman with striking facial features and pale, pink hair, met them.  Elspeth found her absolutely stunning.  “Welcome to the College of Winterhold, a safe haven for mages in Skyrim, a place of wisdom and arcane knowledge.”

“I’m Elspeth Aurilie, Farengar Secret Fire, Balgruuf the Greater’s court wizard sent a recommendation for me.”

“Ah yes, we’ve been expecting you.  Farengar spoke very highly of your abilities in his letter.   And this must be your housecarl, Lydia.”

“Oh no,” Elspeth protested.  “She’s not really my  _housecarl_ —”

“Yes, I am,” insisted Lydia.

Faralda rolled her eyes and said, “Either way, we’re not inclined to allow housecarls.  However, Jarl Balgruuf has always been a friend of the college.  You will be allowed to accompany Elspeth in her quarters and in the common areas.”

“Thank you,” said Elspeth and Lydia nodded.

“Tell me,” she continued, “what is it that you expect to find within the college?”

“I hope to hone my abilities, particularly in the schools of alteration and illusion.  I also hope to do some research in the College’s archive.”  Xeri had given strict instructions to downplay her purpose and so she tried to keep her intentions varied and somewhat vague.

“Very well,” said Faralda.  “Farengar confirmed your abilities and you will have ample opportunity to demonstrate them.  I’ll lead you across the bridge.  Once you’re inside you’ll want to speak with Mirabelle Ervine, our master wizard.  Please follow me.”  As they walked along, Faralda ignited the stone wells along the path and they lit up with a spectacular blue glow that enabled some visibility through the storm, which showed no signs of letting up.

Mirabelle Ervine was waiting in the courtyard.  She looked at Lydia with some suspicion but proceeded to show them around without hesitation.  “The College of Winterhold has been a fixture in Skyrim for thousands of years,” she explained.  “The prominent feature here is the Hall of the Elements.  It’s our primary location for lectures, practice sessions, and general meetings.” She gestured upward.  “The Arcanaeum is located above the hall and the Arch Mage’s quarters above that.  Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your living quarters.” She led them across the courtyard.  “Unfortunately, we’ve had to implement more stringent entry procedures, due to some problems with the local Nords.”  She studied Lydia’s face as she explained this, as if expecting a defensive reaction, but Lydia just nodded in agreement.

“Faculty and senior scholars are housed in the Hall of Countenance while apprentices and visiting scholars stay here in the Hall of Attainment.”  Inside the Hall of Attainment, Mirabelle led them to Elspeth’s room.  “You’ll be sharing common space with your fellow mages.  There is a dining room and kitchen and alchemy and enchanting areas on the top floor.  This bed, desk, and storage areas are yours.  Here is your room key.  Our daily lecture will begin in about a half an hour.”

Elspeth quickly put her things away and they left to attend the lecture. “This is incredible.  At Arcane, I shared a room with five other mages,” she said as they made their way to the back across the courtyard.  She looked around.  “They had a better alchemy garden…maybe there’s a green house around here.”

The mages were clustered in small groups inside the Hall of Elements.  When they entered, the room went silent as the mages turned to stare at Lydia.  She was easily the tallest person in the room and striking in her armor.  Elspeth snickered and leaned in toward her, but before she could say anything, they were approached by an older Nord mage who introduced himself as Tolfdir.  “Welcome Elspeth and Lydia!”  His manner was affectionate and he shook their hands enthusiastically.  “Phinis Gestor, our instructor of Conjuration is about to give today’s lecture.  After that, I will introduce you.”

Phinis Gestor stood in the center of the room atop an elevated fixture with a stone well and began his lecture.  “At this time, I would like to make a few statements regarding policy here at the College. Please refrain from practicing Conjuration spells in view of the town of Winterhold. Atronachs have a tendency to frighten the locals. Undead….Well, I don’t even think it needs to be said. While Drevis appreciates the spellcasting skill that went into somehow cramming several hundred apples into his pillow….He would ask that it please not happen again. He has suggested that, should he find out who is responsible, he is well versed in making things disappear.  Permanently.”

While Elspeth was listening to the lecture, she sensed someone behind her and so she turned around.  And at that moment, the question of whether she would see another face as sweet as Ralof’s in all of Skyrim was answered.  It was a Nord and although his face was partially obscured by his hood, she saw that he had beautiful high cheekbones and the most playful blue eyes that she had ever seen.  His grin set her stomach aflutter.  When she smiled back, he started to approach but was interrupted by Tolfdir who decided it was time to introduce Elspeth and Lydia to everyone in the hall.

“Elspeth Aurilie comes to Skyrim from Bruma.  She studied at Arcane where she specialized in destruction magic.  And this is Lydia, her housecarl, who will be staying in town.”  At the mention of housecarl, a murmur rippled through the crowd along with some snickering.   Elspeth rolled her eyes; she was unsurprised that the mages were not terribly impressed and she wished Lydia hadn’t been introduced that way.

Faralda spoke up next.  “Perhaps Elspeth will favor us with a demonstration of her abilities.”  The mages nodded excitedly.

“Will you?” asked Tolfdir.

“Of course.”  She turned and aimed an impressive expert level fire ball at one of the focusing crystals set along the wall of the hall.  Tolfdir and the others nodded in approval.

“You must know something stronger than that,” came a voice from behind her.  It was an older Dunmer.

“That was more than adequate, Drevis,” said Faralda.

“That was just entirely too effortless on her part.  I mean, she used barely any magicka to cast,” he insisted.  “Do you know any Master level spells?”

Elspeth swallowed nervously and her anxiety somehow betrayed her skill.  He looked closely at her and said, “I think you do.”

“Modesty won’t get you anywhere here Elspeth,” said Phinis.  “If you know a Master spell, demonstrate it.”

Elspeth took a deep breath.  The Sorcerer’s Bane.  It was a multi-element master destruction spell that Arch-mage Relamus had developed in the years before he was appointed to Arcane University.  It was an immensely destructive spell.  When cast, it enclosed the entire casting area and devastated everything in its perimeter.  The problem was that it remained stationary and highly skilled and quickly moving enemies could generally remove themselves.  Elspeth determined that it was created with the intention of destroying small areas such as farms and villages and their inhabitants.  Not monsters.  Not equally powerful mages.  Not soldiers.  Citizens.  It was a war spell, likely created for the Thalmor and it made her sick to think about.  Further, casting the spell drained all of her magicka and required dual casting, which stripped her of her weapon.  Ultimately, it was a devastating light show that left her vulnerable and she never understood why Relamus insisted on teaching it to her and no one else.  And he died before she could find out.  He only said that she would know when to use it, even if it was merely to demonstrate her power.  Is this what he was referring to?

She looked around.  The building was made out of tempered stone and would be safe.  And she wasn’t particularly concerned about the mages either.  “Fine,” she said, “but I need someone to cast a master level ward.  Someone who can keep it going as long as my spell is intact.”  She could hear the other mages shuffling around impatiently and whispering in disbelief.

A woman approached and Tolfdir introduced her.  “This is Collette Marence.  She is our master restoration instructor.”

“On your signal, I will cast my strongest ward,” she said.  “And the rest of you will be reminded of how essential and powerful the restoration school can be.”  She sounded resentful and Elspeth wondered what she meant by that.

Elspeth took a deep breath, signaled Collette, and cast.  The spell went up with a bit more effort than she was accustomed to and the lightening and fire elements combined to form a wall of white and blue fire.  The glow was blinding and the temperature would have been unbearable without Collette’s ward.  Unlike chain spells, which ended when the casting stopped, or explosion and bolt spells, which were single blast spells that ended on impact, this spell regenerated itself and the combined elements multiplied in strength before they died down.

When it was over, the room was absolutely silent.  Collette and Lydia were beaming but the rest of the mages were stunned.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Nord mage that she had noticed earlier.  He looked astonished but his gaze softened and he grinned at her again, which made her blush.

Someone from the back of the room piped up, “Why does she need that big sword?”

“Are you kidding,” said another. “Why does she need a housecarl?”

Tolfdir raised his head but before he could say anything he was shoved aside by an Altmer in Thalmor robes.  He approached Elspeth and glowered at her, “Who taught you that spell?”  His tone was angry and suspicious and his posture threatening.  Elspeth was breathing hard and she felt her face go completely numb.  He brought his face level with hers.  “I said, where did you learn that spell?”

And that’s when she fainted.


	16. Analepsis C

Elspeth skipped dinner and went straight to the Mystic Archives.  For the rest of the University, it was still early and she secured a table toward the back, far from the entrance, where she would be able to work in relative peace and quiet.  She had research notes to transcribe, qualifying exams to study and practice for, and a presentation—on the aforementioned research—to prepare.  She was tired and sore and she had more work than time, even less time if she intended to sleep at all.  She had fallen behind, having only just returned from a particularly grueling training session.  It had taken her twice as long as she expected to clear the Aleyid ruin Xeri sent her to.

To make matters worse, just as she settled in with her books open and her notes spread out, she looked up and saw Andil and Dabienne sitting down at a table across the room.  Elspeth’s stomach lurched and she dropped her head so they wouldn’t see her.  She attempted to read but she found it difficult to focus.

 

“You look awful.”

Elspeth looked up and saw Yarah standing over her, arms crossed and shaking her head.  She sat down and started rifling through Elspeth’s papers.  “I looked for you at dinner,” she said as she picked up a notebook and started paging through it.

“I’m sorry,” said Elspeth as she pulled her notes away from Yarah’s curious hands.  “I just wanted to get an early start on work.”

“Indeed.”  Yarah sat down across the table and looked very seriously at Elspeth.  “You need a break.  Let’s go into town for a drink.”

Elspeth looked incredulous at this suggestion.  “Are you insane?  Do you have any idea how much work I have to do?”

“Yes I do,” she said.  “And I also know that you aren’t going to accomplish anything with those two around.”  She gestured behind her as she started to gather up Elspeth’s things.  “Come on,” she insisted.  “There are plenty of things you can do over a pint.  You can copy my notes from Ilario’s lecture that you missed.”

Elspeth frowned again; she was disappointed to have missed the lecture.  Ilario was the University’s newest senior scholar.  He was a Master level mage who specialized in Mysticism.  He was brilliant and his lectures were spirited and irreverent.  It was rumored that his ability to capture and inspire his audience was part of the reason the Thalmor had recently issued a unilateral ban on the practice and study of Mysticism.  The University responded in kind with a petition denouncing the ban that was signed by over 90% of the student body, the entire faculty, and then delivered to the Justiciar’s office in Imperial City by Arch-mage Relamus himself.  The faculty response was unsurprising since they were tired of the Thalmor’s influence over the University.  However, for the Arch-mage, who had a long (and well deserved) reputation as a Thalmor puppet, it was a bold and unexpected move.  The Thalmor had yet to respond.

She shook her head.  “I really, really can’t.  I have too much to do.  And if Xeri finds out I left campus to study in a tavern she’ll—“

“She’ll what?” asked Yarah sternly, her dark eyes looking intently at Elspeth.  “Lock you in an Elven ruin for three days?”

“Yes,” said Elspeth quietly.

Yarah narrowed her eyes and replied, “She’s going to do that anyway.”

“True,” said Elspeth.  “But she’s a lot easier to travel with when she’s not angry with me.”  Elspeth sat back and looked at the books and papers in front of her.  She glanced over at Andil and Dabienne again.  Dabienne was giggling and seeing that stung Elspeth’s chest.  The pain she felt was clear, especially to Yarah.

“Look, this is not one of my usual attempts to corrupt you.”  Yarah look genuinely concerned.  “I’ve been worried about you.  You’ve been going nonstop for months now.”

“All right,” she said, her tone was somewhat harsh.  “Let’s go now before I change my mind.”

They left the archive and walked across campus to the Mage’s quarters where they swapped out their robes for street clothes and reorganized their satchels, while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.  Yarah’s Sundas excursions to local watering holes tended to draw a small crowd—but she wanted Elspeth to herself tonight.  They exited the University grounds quickly and unnoticed and on the way to City Isle, they talked about Ilario and the changes that seemed to be taking hold in the University.

“So, what do you think the Thalmor will do?” asked Yarah.  “I thought they would have responded by now.  Do you think they are trying to come up with a compromise on the Mysticism ban?”

Elspeth laughed and shook her head.  “I doubt it very much.  I think they are going to withdraw all their financial support.”

“Really?”  Yarah’s eyes grew wide.  “That would be devastating.  Neither the Synod nor the College of Whispers can sustain the University on their own.   I can’t believe Relamus risked that.  It’s about time he grew a pair.”

“I wouldn’t give him that much credit,” said Elspeth somewhat derisively as she looked around.  Apart from a few guards in the distance, the bridge was empty.  She lowered her voice anyway and said, “Relamus wouldn’t do anything so bold without first securing his position.  He told me that he’s met with an associate of the Psijic Order–some Altmer noble or some such–and that he would lend his support if the Thalmor withdraw.”

“Are you kidding?”  Yarah was incredulous.  “He tells you a lot, doesn’t he?  Must be nice to be the Arch-mage’s pet.”  She was teasing, but she wasn’t wrong.  Relamus had favored Elspeth almost from the moment she arrived and surprised her cohort and most of the faculty with a demonstration of her destruction abilities.  It was a bit ironic, since Relamus had been Evangeline’s replacement after she was removed from the position. But of course, Yarah didn’t know this.

“I think that Ilario has connections to the Order and was hired to teach Mysticism and all that entails.  Divinity.  Apotheosis.  _Talos_.”  Elspeth sighed.  “I’m probably being too hard on him,” she relented.  “Maybe he’s not such a puppet after all.  The University is starting to feel like a place where knowledge is produced, not just a place to practice Candlelight spells until your hand falls off.”

“Indeed,” agreed Yarah.  “Where shall we go tonight?” she asked as they arrived at the Arboretum.  “The Plaza Inn?  The All-Saints Inn?”

“Let’s go to the old Boarding House in the garden district.  I’m not in the mood for pretentious conversations.”

They passed quietly through the Plaza and Temple districts.   The sun was starting to set and citizens were heading home for the evening.  With the exception of the Arena district, Elspeth always felt very relaxed wandering the streets of Imperial City.  It had been almost 25 years since the Great War had ended and, according to Xeri, the city had never recovered its energy and likely never would.  Buildings and statues had been restored—to some degree—but its spark was gone.  Elspeth liked that the city was heavily and diversely populated but remained calm, although she was sorry that her tranquility was the city’s war weariness.

The Boarding House was crowded but they managed to secure a table by the door.  It was a popular spot for adventurers stopping in city to restock before moving on to the next quest.  The people here were strangers and mostly kept to themselves, making only small talk.  However, Portia, the publican, recognized Yarah—all the publicans knew her—and had her Colovian Brandy waiting.  Elspeth got a bottle of red wine and they settled in for a night of transcribing and talking.

Yarah let Elspeth work for about a half an hour before she started with her concerns.  If Elspeth were a normal Breton she would just wait until the wine kicked in and the confessing began.  But Elspeth was not a normal Breton; she had the tolerance of a 250-pound Nord warrior.  Finally, she asked, “How are you feeling about Andil?”  Yarah wasn’t generally blunt, preferring to let her friends confide at their own pace.  But she hadn’t seen Elspeth grieve at all and she was really worried.  Elspeth could hold her liquor like a Nord, but she didn’t have their characteristic stoicism.  She was a sensitive young woman and her sudden detachment was unexpected.

Elspeth dropped her pen and looked up.  “So, that’s why you brought me out tonight?”

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked.”  Yarah smiled and looked into Elspeth’s face, searching for some semblance of emotion.  “I haven’t seen you mourn.  And maybe…maybe that’s okay, but it’s not like you.”  Yarah looked at Elspeth whose face was now about to break and suddenly regretted bringing her to a crowded public place.   “We can go for a walk if you want.”

“No, it’s okay.”  Elspeth’s eyes filled with tears, but she took a deep breath and swallowed hard against crying.  “The day that Andil told me he fucked Dabienne, I lied about having a training session with Xeri and I camped out in Fatback cave for two days.  I cleared out about twenty goblins and spent the next day crying and screaming.”

“Oh, honey.”  Yarah touched her arm.  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because, it was my fault.  I wasn’t mad at him, I was furious at myself.  You tried to warn me….”  Her voice trailed off.

“I didn’t know about her,” explained Yarah.  “You two were becoming estranged and I just wanted you to talk to him.”

“No, I know.”  Elspeth blew her nose.  “And that’s just it.  I felt bad for him.  I felt bad that I forced him to sneak around and wasn’t available until he’d already—oh gods.”  She dropped her face into her arms and sobbed.  After a few moments she continued, “And you know, I can accept that we weren’t meant to be.  My life isn’t exactly conducive to that sort of commitment.  But he was my best friend.  I met him in Bruma two days after I moved there.”  Yarah just nodded.  “The thing that hurts the most when I think about my future without Andil is not that he won’t be my husband, it’s that he won’t be my friend.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Yarah.  “And I’m sorry I brought you out here like this—”

“Don’t be,” Elspeth interrupted.  “I needed this.”  She looked back at her notes and the work she needed to finish.  “Do you have a deck of cards?”

Yarah smiled and they played cards and chatted until the wee hours of the morning.  They knew that they were going to feel the effects of blowing of their work for the next several days, but it was worth it.  It was around three o’clock when they finally packed up and walked back to campus.

“Yarah, why isn’t the main well lit?” asked Elspeth.  The building was unusually dark and as they approached, it felt eerily quiet and empty, devoid not only of people but also of the magical energy that enveloped the campus.

“Let’s go in through the Lobby.  Someone will be minding the Orrey and can tell us what’s going on.”

The lobby was pitch black and Elspeth tripped and fell flat on her face.  Yarah threw a Magelight onto the wall and when she saw what—or rather who—made Elspeth trip, she screamed.  It was Taura, the Arch-mage’s assistant.  She was dead.

“Oh my gods, TAURA!” Elspeth yelled as Yarah started banging on the Arch-mage’s door.  The magical seal was gone but the door appeared bolted shut.

Elspeth stood up and looked around.  In the Orrery she found the bodies of three more mages.  The Orrery was destroyed.  Back in the Lobby, Yarah had just vomited.  She opened the door to leave.  “Come on!  Elspeth, we have to get the guards.  Let’s go now.”  But Elspeth wasn’t listening.  “ELSPETH!  IT’S NOT SAFE!” Yarah shook her head and muttered, “Mara’s mercy, what is she thinking.”

Yarah ran after her but Elspeth was fast and she didn’t see the direction she went.  The campus was littered with dead bodies.   In their robes, they all looked alike and Yarah wanted to look each one in the face but she was terrified that Elspeth would run into whatever vile evil had done this.  And so in true Redguard fashion, she went to face the evil with her friend even though it likely meant going to her death.  She ran as fast as she could to the Mage’s Quarters, suddenly realizing where Elspeth would check first.  And as she entered the building she heard it, the sound of wrath and grief that would haunt her until the end of her days.

“FUUUUUUUUCK, NO.  OH GODS WHY? WHY?”

Yarah expected that she would be prying Elspeth off Andil’s body.  But Elspeth was just sobbing and screaming, looking at Andil and Dabienne whose bodies were entangled in whatever attempt at comfort and safety they sought in their last moments together.

She gathered Elspeth up to her feet and implored her to leave.  “We have to go.  We have to find the guards.   We don’t know who did this or if they’ll be back.”

“I know who did this,” she said.

It didn’t take long for Yarah to understand and realize for herself that the Thalmor were behind this.   It was another Purge, like so many that happened in the years leading up to and during the Great War.

“There is going to be another war,” said Elspeth calmly—a little too calmly.  “And we’re going to fight.”


	17. The Blue You Once Knew

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

As she returned to consciousness, Elspeth saw a blurry Lydia grab the Altmer in the Thalmor robes and knock him to the ground.  The rest of the mages who were just standing around in silence started to back away—except for Colette who knelt down beside her.  Suddenly, the pain in her head was met with the most incredible Healing Hands spell she had ever felt.  Warmth radiated through her skull and down her spine.

The Thalmor elf scrambled to his feet and Lydia put her hand on the hilt of her axe.  However, before he could confront her, another elf, a Dunmer wearing unique robes, put himself between them.  “Ancano!” he shouted, “Let it go.”  Then he turned to Lydia and said harshly, “There is no need for violence.  Please go take care of your friend.  And I will see you both in my quarters in two hours.”  As he led Ancano away, Elspeth surmised that he was the Arch-mage, Savos Aren.

“Thank you,” said Elspeth to Collette and Lydia as they helped her stand.  The mages were gathering back into to their groups now, whispering and snickering.  Tolfdir approached them, offering to help and Lydia thanked him but promised that Elspeth would be fine.  The rest of the instructors looked on with concern, but kept their distance as they left the Hall of the Elements.  Outside, Elspeth took a deep breath; the cold, snowy air felt good in her lungs.  She turned to a very worried Lydia and burst out laughing.

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief.  “You really know how to make an impression.”

They walked back to Elspeth’s room and after they locked themselves in, Lydia turned to her and asked, “It wasn’t the spell that made you sick, was it?  It was Ancano, that Thalmor elf.”

Elspeth leaned back onto her bed and nodded.  “It’s not like I haven’t seen any Thalmor since Arcane, it’s just….” She paused, not exactly certain how to explain what happened.  “Just being here surrounded by mages, everything suddenly came back and I thought for sure he was going to kill me—like he meant to finish the Purge.  And I was weak from the spell, which didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry.”  Lydia felt terrible for her and she didn’t know how to help.  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think anyone here will try to kill you now.”  She looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to recall something.  “I’ve never seen you use that spell.”

“It’s very powerful but actually kind of useless…unless you want to go burninating the country side and the peasants and all the people in their thatched roof cottages.”  Elspeth stretched some more and closed her eyes.  She was exhausted and dreading the conversation with Savos.  Normally, she would have been eager for a personal audience with the Arch-mage, but it seemed likely that Ancano would be there and that put a damper on her whatever excitement she might have felt.  She took a deep breath and started to doze off while Lydia pulled a book out of her satchel and sat down at the desk to read.

About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the door.  Elspeth sat up and straightened her robe while Lydia answered.   It was the Nord mage with the playful eyes and the nice cheekbones.

“Can I help you?” asked Lydia, somewhat apprehensively.

“Hello,” he said.  “I wanted to see if Elspeth is okay.  And I brought you both some food.   It’s not much, just some mead and bread and cheese.”

Lydia grinned.  “Well, this is a nice surprise.   I wasn’t expecting much, or really any Nord hospitality here.”  She turned to Elspeth, “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” she responded as Lydia opened the door to welcome him.  Her heart started flipping around in her chest and she tried to appear composed.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said has he unpacked the food he had brought.  “I’m Onmund.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” said Lydia as she gestured for him to sit down.

“That spell was quite spectacular,” he said, turning to Elspeth and handing her some mead.  “Did you learn that at Arcane?”

Elspeth frowned.  “Did Ancano send you to ask me that?”

“What?”  Onmund was shocked, “Ancano?  No…I was just…I didn’t mean to make you think—”

Now Elspeth felt bad; she hadn’t intended to be accusatory.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I’m paranoid…I just didn’t expect anyone to yell at me like that.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” he said sympathetically.  “It’s okay.”

Elspeth smiled as she noticed his strong jaw and slight under-bite.  “What can you tell me about him?” she asked, trying to force thoughts of cupping his face in her hands and playfully biting his jaw out of her mind.

“Ancano?  I know he’s from the Thalmor, and that he claims to be here simply as an advisor,” he replied.  “I also know that no one really believes that. I’ve been trying to avoid him, honestly.”

“Well,” said Elspeth, suddenly feeling very nervous. “I don’t think I am going to be able to avoid him.  In fact, I think we have to go meet with Savos now and he’ll probably be there… _advising_.”  She looked at Lydia who nodded in agreement.  Despite her anxiety, she forced herself to smile at Onmund.  “Thank you for the food.”

“You’re welcome,” he said as he got up to leave.  “I hope to see you soon.”  He walked backwards out the doorway, smiling warmly the whole time.

Lydia watched as Elspeth craned her neck, trying to keep Onmund in view as long as she could.  She gave her a knowing look and said, “Well!  Looks like you found your magic Nord.”

Elspeth blushed.  She started to protest but the look on Lydia’s face indicated that such a gesture would be useless.  Instead she asked, “Should I get an amulet of Mara?”

Lydia sighed.   “Elspeth my dear, while calling upon the blessings of the Divines is a perfectly cromulent way to initiate the courtship… _process_ , you could also just talk to him.”

“I just tried that and I accused him of being a Thalmor agent.”  Elspeth crossed her arms and dramatically shook her head.  “No, that won’t work.  I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m daft.”

“You just stunned the college with a massive wall of white flame, passed out, and hit your head.  I’m sure he doesn’t.  Just bat those long eyelashes next time you see him and say something brilliant and hilarious.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Don’t do what I did.”

“What did you do?”

Lydia smirked.  “I  _accidentally_  forgot my bedroll on a trip to Ivarstead and snuck into his after he’d fallen asleep.”

Elspeth’s eyes widened, “Really?”

“Pretty much, yes.”  She paused and then asked, “Do you disapprove?”

“Not in the slightest.  But they probably have rules against that here.”

They walked quickly across campus; the mages milling around looked over at them with both suspicion and curiosity.  Except for a few people casting spells, The Hall of the Elements was almost empty when they arrived and as they ascended the stairs, they heard Ancano and Mirabelle arguing in the landing just outside the Arch-mage’s quarters.

“….someone like that is dangerous and—”

“You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I’m afraid you’ll find the Thalmor receive no such treatment here.  You are a guest of the College, here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage.  I hope you appreciate the opportunity.”

“Yes of course, the Arch-mage has my thanks.”

“Elspeth!” Mirabelle exclaimed when she saw the women appear at the top of the steps.  “Arch-mage Savos is expecting you.”  She held the door open and motioned toward a table where Savos Aren was seated.  He looked up and nodded for them to sit although he looked less than pleased when Ancano took a seat as well.  He didn’t object, however.

After Mirabelle left, Savos made what could only be described as small talk: was she feeling okay; did she need elixirs, food, linens; were her quarters to her satisfaction—concerns that were not generally the considered within the purview of an Arch-mage.  Elspeth found it disconcerting, if not downright bizarre.  But she nodded along.  Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, “Elspeth, the spell you demonstrated today was most impressive.  It’s clear that you have a tremendous amount of skill.  Could you tell me more about the spell?  Where did you learn it?”

“Arch-mage Relamus taught it to me before he died,” Elspeth explained.  “He never told me why.”

Ancano opened his mouth to say something but Savos scowled and he backed down.  “Yes, I thought that might be the case.  It’s interesting to me that he never mentioned you in our correspondence.  Tell me, did he ever produce a tome for that spell?”

“No,” she replied.  “Well, not that I know of.  He taught me the aspects line by line.”

“What do you hope to learn here?” he asked.  His manner, while genuinely inquisitive, was stiff and uncomfortable. He was holding something back; it was plain to everyone on the room—even Lydia.

“Well, I still have plenty to learn in the other magic schools,” she said.  “And I thought I would do some archival research as well.”  Elspeth had hoped to ask the Arch-mage about Nerussa and the letter that was the only evidence of her existence, but with the Thalmor in such close quarters, that would have to wait.

“Good, good.”  He then launched into a well-rehearsed lecture on the purpose of the college.  It was awkward and somewhat pointless but she listened patiently.  He paused at the end and then asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”

Elspeth just shook her head slowly and he dismissed them.   She and Lydia skipped quickly down the steps to avoid walking with Ancano.  When they were back in the lobby and out of earshot, Lydia turned to Elspeth and asked, “What was that?”   She was baffled.  “Am I missing some sort of magic language code?”

“No,” said Elspeth; she also looked puzzled.  The generic lecture, the obvious and inexplicable discomfort, it was all very strange.  “That was weird.  Even for a mage.”  Elspeth looked around.  “There is something going on here.  I don’t know…I have a feeling that I’m going to be doing more than combing the archive.”

“I know,” said Lydia.  “We came here to find Nerussa.  Now you’ve got the Thalmor to avoid, a Nord mage to woo….”  She laughed for a moment before her face turned serious again. “Do you want me to stay longer?”

Elspeth considered this.  “No,” she said finally.  “Go meet the Jarl.  Find some work.  Nothing on that point has changed.  I’m going to update my journal and then mix some potions or something.   I’ll find you tomorrow after I meet with the librarian and inspect the archive.”

They parted ways in the courtyard.  The weather was still a mess—heavy, wet snow—although the winds had let up slightly.  As she watched Lydia disappear down the bridge, she felt a twinge of sadness as she realized that this was the first night since they’d met that she would be alone.  It amazed her how quickly and easily she had grown comfortable in Skyrim and with Lydia.  She looked up and sighed.  On the day that she was forced to recall the most devastating night of her life—when she’d lost her one and only kindred spirit, she was also realizing that she had found another.


	18. Then Our Skin Gets Thicker

“Disrupt my Arcanaeum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs.”

The College of Winterhold’s librarian, an elderly Orc called Urag gro-Shub, had very strong feelings about preserving the integrity and quality of the library.  Elspeth was not unfamiliar with such strict rules and regulations, but Grig-Mei and the other librarians at the Mystic Archives had not shared the Orc’s passion.  She wondered if his insistence was motivated entirely by preservation or if it was also intended to disabuse his fellow mages of any notions concerning the cultural literacy of the Orcs.  Either way, while throwing some brute Orc strength behind the preservation imperative may not disrupt any stereotypes, one thing was certain, the collection would remain pristine as long as Urag gro-Shub was in charge.

Several mages had arrived ahead of her and so Elspeth wandered around, inspecting the impressive collection.  Most of the books were locked away and accessible only through Urag.  The open shelves contained introductory magic and history books, most of which she had already read, so she sat down and leafed through a copy of  _Galerion the Mystic_  while she waited.  After about a half an hour, they spoke and he was less than enthusiastic about her request.

“You mean to tell me that you have no thesis, no research proposal, no magical topic at all.  You want to use the script of a single letter to locate a former mage who may or may not have left research notes behind?”  His tone was gruff and distrustful although given his feelings about the Arcanaeum, she suspected he always sounded like that.

Xeri had discovered from someone in the Mage’s guild that Urag was trustworthy; at the very least he opposed the Thalmor and their attempts at influencing the College.  Elspeth had originally planned to be more specific with him.  Without giving away her own identity, she intended to tell Urag that she was looking for a mage who may have come under an assumed identity to evade the Thalmor.  However, with Ancano on the school grounds that now seemed far too risky.

“Yes,” she replied.  She had a bad feeling, suddenly realizing how dubious her request sounded.

“Can I read the letter?” he asked.

Elspeth paused.  The letter was among a handful of things that Xeri had brought to Skyrim ahead of her.  It was precious—the only evidence of Nerussa’s existence beyond her escape from Cyrodill.  She was wary of showing it to anyone.  But she needed his help and withholding it was not doing her any good.  After a few moments, she took it out of her journal and handed it over.

A true archivist, Urag handled the letter with care, unfolding it carefully and placing it flat on the desk in front of him.  He read through it slowly, nodding as he went along.  Finally, he looked up and said, “This is a very unusual request.  And I am not in the habit of indulging research that doesn’t advance arcane knowledge or enhance the practice of magic in some way.”  He looked down at the letter again.  “However, I’ve heard that you are an exceptional destruction mage.  And that you have a housecarl.  If you would be willing to do a favor for me, I will grant you full access to the archive.  It’s a little dangerous, but I think you and your housecarl can handle it.”

“Of course!” Elspeth was elated.  “Just tell me what you need done and Lydia and I will take care of it.”

“Some books have gone missing—stolen actually.   The guilty parties are likely dead by now but the books should be in Bleakcoast Cave.  Return them and I will grant you access.”  He folded the letter and handed it back to her.  Then he took a piece of paper and drew a very rough map.  “This is approximately where the cave is located.  You might ask the Jarl’s steward for more information, but that should take you to the right place.”

Elspeth gathered up the letter and the map and put them in her journal.  She nodded toward Urag in thanks and left the library.  In the lobby of the Hall of the Elements, Faralda approached her and said that Lydia was looking for her outside.  Indeed, Lydia was sitting on the well just below the statue in the courtyard.  She looked somewhat tired but immediately perked up when she saw Elspeth.

“I missed you last night,” she said.  “The Jarl is in Dawnstar for several days.  The only work I managed to find was to help the shop keep’s brother Ranmir settle his debt with Dagur.  I finished my book and now I’m bored.”

Elspeth didn’t ask how she helped Ranmir settle his debt.  In such a small town, amassing good will by doing favors for the local residents was smart and they would make up the monetary loss later.  “Well, you’re in luck.  I’ve got some work.  The librarian said I could have full access to the archive, but I need to find some books for him.  They’re in Bleakcoast Cave,” she explained as they walked across the courtyard.

Inside the Hall of Attainment they went to the dining hall where Elspeth prepared lunch while Lydia studied the map Urag had drawn.  Shortly after they started eating, two apprentices, J’zargo and Brelyna Maryon, joined them but at the far end of the table.  Elspeth had met them at breakfast. Brelyna appeared to be a very sweet—albeit somewhat insecure—Dunmer woman who specialized in Alteration magic.  J’zargo, a Khajiit, was not quite as friendly, and struck Elspeth as overly competitive and somewhat arrogant.  Both had complimented her on the spell that she performed, but where Brelyna was genuinely impressed, J’zargo had seemed threatened.  Elspeth was disappointed that Onmund was not with them and was starting to wonder if maybe she had only dreamed about the Nord mage with the playful eyes and the strong jaw.

After several moments, they heard a loud, harsh whisper from the end of the table.  “If you don’t ask her, I will!”  It came from Brelyna.  Elspeth and Lydia stopped eating and looked sternly at the two mages.  They were the only people in the dining room, so she was most likely referring to Elspeth.  J’zargo let out a deep breath and, with Brelyna at his heels, walked over and sat down next to them.

“It is difficult to admit, but J’zargo could use some help,” he said as he pulled out a pile of scrolls from his satchel.  “I was wondering if you would mind testing these destruction scrolls.”  His words were drawn out, his accent that of a typical Khajiit and so she couldn’t tell if he was being sly or friendly or just Elsweyrian.

“Sure,” she said, hoping her enthusiasm would allay whatever anxiety he felt about asking her in the first place. At Arcane such favors were common and so she was baffled by his earlier hesitation.

Lydia looked at the pile of scrolls he’d laid out, her eyes wide with curiosity.  “Can I try one?” she asked.  She loved casting scrolls and before she’d alienated him with her criticism of his teaching abilities—or lack thereof—she used to purchase them from Farengar at a steep discount.

He smiled.  “J’zargo likes the housecarl’s enthusiasm!  Yes!  If Elspeth can also observe another person casting the scrolls, it would be most helpful to J’zargo.”  As they gathered the scrolls into their satchels, he explained that they were specifically geared toward the undead and would be useless against any living creature.

The cave was not far from Winterhold but they packed for a night of camping since it would be late by the time they arrived and cleared it.  Back in town they bought provisions for the trip and made their way south-east along the coast.  The snow had lightened up considerably and they arrived quickly—meeting only couple of slow moving horkers, which were easily avoided, along the way.

The cave was a large open area with several small alcoves.  After clearing out a pack of snow wolves and a snow bear, they came upon the bodies of a dead necromancer and two  large chests filled with loot.  In addition to the books, they gathered soul gems of all sizes, several amulets, loose gems, and some rather obscure potions.  Birna who ran the shop in town was going to be thrilled at the variety and the quality of the items and would pay well for them.

It was late by the time they made their way back through the cave and so they built a small fire just inside one of the alcoves and settled in for the night.  They shared a bottle of mead and some bread—saving the more substantial meat and cheese they’d brought for the morning meal.  Elspeth yawned and stretched out on her bedroll while Lydia poked at the fire and bounced on her heels.  She was smiling and obviously very excited about something.

“I love this,” she said finally.  “I used to fantasize about being an adventurer as a child.  And whenever Hrongar and I had to camp like this, I used to imagine us traveling all over Skyrim—not on court business—but exploring caves and deserted mines and raiding tombs, our purses growing fat—”

“I can’t imagine you looting ruins,” said Elspeth.  “Exploring, perhaps.  But not treasure hunting.”

“No,” she said, “I suppose not.”  She swallowed some mead and sat back.  “Speaking of ruins.  There is a small one just south of here.  If we leave early we can see if there are some undead guardians.”   Lydia was determined to cast J’zargo’s scrolls.

Elspeth smiled at her enthusiasm.  “You know, I am sure that Colette would be more than happy to teach you a lesser ward.  And the College could use more Nords.”

“I want to learn to shoot icicles from my hands and conjure a pack of skeevers so I can go back to Whiterun and let them loose in Idolaf’s bedroom.”  She sighed.  “I wish Nords liked magic better and weren’t so suspicious of mages.”

Elspeth shook her head.  “It would be nice if magic were more accepted here, yes.  But Nords are correct to be suspicious of mages.  We’re petty, snarky, superficial individuals…just awful.”  She took the bottle back from Lydia and took a long swallow, finishing it off.  “You would do well to remember that.”  The fire had warmed the alcove nicely so she removed her cloak and used it to prop her head.

“You aren’t any of those things,” protested Lydia.  “Onmund doesn’t seem like that.  Neither does Tolfdir.”

“They’re Nords,” Elspeth explained.  “And Xeri kept me away from other mages just long enough to prevent me from honing any socially awkward tendencies I might have developed.  That’s why I can tolerate Farengar, but am not nearly as off-putting.”  She paused and smirked.  “And I’ll note your standard reply to his name as given.”

Lydia laughed and offered to take the first watch.  At sunrise they left and made their way toward Journeyman’s Nook.  It was less of a ruin and more of an ancient shelter but sure enough, there were several skeletons guarding it.  They walked around quietly and when they were in range, Lydia cast the first scroll.  It was a fire cloak, designed to envelop the caster and destroy any undead creature that tried to approach.  Lydia smiled.  The fire enthralled her as it gathered around her body as if in a loving embrace.  Even Elspeth had to admit that it looked impressive.  She charged toward the skeletons but as Elspeth looked on she suddenly felt something was wrong, that something was missing….

“LYDIA! WAIT, DON’T—” she screamed as she tried to get to the skeletons before the fire cloak could touch them

But she was too late.  The cloak exploded and sent skeleton bones flying in every direction.  And Lydia was down, screaming in pain.  Elspeth ran to her.  She pulled the burning steel armor from Lydia’s body.  The armor had protected her torso and legs but there were injuries on her arms and neck.  Elspeth quickly pulled a bottle of strong healing elixir from her bag and helped Lydia drink it as she packed her injuries in snow.  The healing potion was effective but it was slow.  Elspeth cursed herself and vowed to learn Healing Hands as soon as she got back to the college.

As Lydia came around she was able to use her own spell to finish healing herself.  She gave Elspeth a pained and puzzled look. “What was THAT?”

“I told you mages were awful,” she said.  Her voice was seething.  As Lydia put her armor back on, Elspeth unrolled one of the scrolls.  Her face cracked in anger as she read the aspects.  “He didn’t write in a ward for the caster.”

Lydia didn’t understand what that meant.  “I’m sure it was just a mistake.”  She was very upset about what had happened, but she wanted to believe it was just an accident.

“If this is a mistake—and I am not entirely convinced—it’s the sloppiest, most irresponsible mistake one can possibly make.”   Elspeth was not optimistic.  Could it have been a trap?  The first thing you learned when writing destruction scrolls was to check that you’ve written a ward for each aspect of the spell.  Surely a mage as skilled as J’zargo knew that.

The walk back was long since Lydia was still somewhat shaken and it was starting to get dark when they arrived back at the Frozen Hearth.  Lydia reassured Elspeth that she was fine but Elspeth’s anger had only grown on the journey back to Winterhold.  Once Lydia was settled back in her room, Elspeth stormed up the bridge to the College and by the time she reached the courtyard, her fury was accompanied by paranoia and she was convinced that J’zargo had, indeed, try to kill them.

She found J’zargo talking to Brelyna and Onmund in the Hall of the Elements.  She charged over and without saying anything, grabbed J’zargo by the neck and punched him in the face.  He staggered back and retaliated with a fireball, which she easily deflected.  As Elspeth went to grab her sword and J’zargo went to cast a stronger spell, Onmund and Brelyna put themselves in the middle of the fight.  Breylena was screaming at J’zargo to stop and Onmund grabbed and held Elspeth’s arms down.  “What do you think you are doing?” he shouted, his face full of confusion.

“He tried to kill us!” she shouted back as she struggled away from him.

“J’zargo did no such thing!”

“Just tell us what happened,” pleaded Onmund.  He was desperate to know why Elspeth, who seemed rather nice just yesterday, wanted to hurt his friend.

Elspeth threw her fist into her bag and brought out one of the offensive scrolls.  She thrust it toward Onmund, who took it while she explained, “Lydia cast that.  It destroyed the skeletons we met, but it also injured her.”  As he read along, his confusion turned to anger and he looked at J’zargo with a mix of confusion and disgust.  “These are the scrolls you wanted her to test?  This is a mess.  You didn’t write enough wards.”  He looked again.  “You didn’t write any wards!”

“J’zargo’s scrolls don’t need wards.  They are for the undead.  Perhaps Lydia is a vampire.”  J’zargo was stubborn and his self-assurance would not be shaken.

“All destruction scrolls need wards you stupid cat.” Elspeth was livid.

Brelyna and Onmund nodded in agreement.  Their disapproval was palpable and with this J’zargo relented a bit.  “J’zargo may have been too hasty with this batch of scrolls.”  It was as close to an apology as his pride would allow.   Elspeth shook her head and turned to leave.  She heard more shouting as she opened the gate, but she didn’t look back.

She walked slowly across the courtyard, her anger now giving way to guilt and sadness.  Tears filled her eyes.  Although she knew nothing would have deterred Lydia’s enthusiasm, she should have cast that first scroll.  She paused at the door to the Hall of Attainment, thinking perhaps she should go apologize to Lydia.  Then she realized that Lydia would never accept any such apology from her.

“Are you okay?”  She felt a hand touch her shoulder.  It was Onmund.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “I would just like to get through one day without feeling like someone is going to kill me here.”  She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“J’zargo is far too arrogant to even consider something as baseas murder to eliminate his competition,” he said as they arrived at the door to Elspeth’s room.  “And his pranks aren’t quite as clever as that.”  It was clear he was mocking his friend, but his tone was also sincere—he was determined to put her mind at ease.  “But you have every reason to be angry with him.”  He wanted to offer her a hug but for some reason, it felt wildly inappropriate.  He was affectionate by nature but with Elspeth, it felt like too much too soon.

Elspeth smiled. “Thank you.”

They both stood there looking awkwardly at each other, not knowing just how nervous each made the other one feel.  The day prior, Elspeth had pushed improper thoughts about biting his jaw out of her head.  Tonight she also wanted him to stay and talk.  Onmund had been drawn to Elspeth from the moment she entered the Hall of the Elements.  Now he felt a strange mix of comfort and anxiety—he wanted to be near her.  There was a moment he observed the day before, a comfort in the way she sat and sipped her mead that made him think that he could sit with her for hours, but he was terrified he would frighten her off with some dimwitted comment or other clumsy gesture.

After several moments, the events of the day caught up with Elspeth and she was hit with a wave of exhaustion that made her nauseated and dizzy.  Her face was flushed and as much as she wanted to stay and stare at Onmund, she was grateful to break what was soon to become an uncomfortable silence.  They were able to part gracefully and she went to bed that night praying to Mara that she would find her amulet somewhere in this desolate town


	19. For You to Look for Me

Mirabelle shook her head in exasperation.  She was in no mood to deal with J’zargo’s pranks and she’d only just met Elspeth and already the new mage appeared to be a nuisance.  Why were the powerful ones always the most trouble?   She looked at them again.  J’zargo looked bored and unrepentant, which was typical of him.  And Elspeth, well, Mirabelle studied her face some more.  She looked sort of pained and sad, and Mirabelle softened a bit upon seeing this.   “All right,” she said eventually.  “You will split the fine and we will forget about J’zargo’s… _experimental_ scrolls and Elspeth’s violent—albeit somewhat understandable—reaction.”

“J’zargo maintains he did nothing more than make a small error but will pay the fine to appease the administration.”  His tone was defensive.

“Thank you J’zargo,” said Mirabelle.  “And if you will excuse us, I would like to talk to Elspeth.

J’zargo got up and left the room quickly.  When he was gone, Mirabelle observed Elspeth some more.  As Master Wizard, she handled most of the College’s day-to-day tasks, which often involved disciplining students, particularly the younger apprentices.  Most were either unapologetic and haughty as J’zargo had been, or wholly and sincerely remorseful.  But few came into her office with as much angst as Elspeth appeared to be carrying.  Not only was she unsure about how to handle her, she couldn’t figure out why she felt compelled to say anything at all.  She recalled Farengar’s letter, which mentioned that she studied at Arcane.  Mirabelle had thought her name sounded familiar but she never could place it.  Finally, she crossed her hands over her ledger and asked, “Elspeth, when did you complete your studies at Arcane University?”

Elspeth was quiet for a several moments before answering.  “I didn’t,” she said; her voice was flat.  “All the students and teachers were killed before I could finish.”

Mirabelle sucked in a gasp of air and put her hand to her mouth.  Now she remembered.  She had seen Elspeth’s name on the incident report the Thalmor distributed when they completed their investigation.  The report had been gruesome and Mirabelle had only glanced over the names of the women who had been the first to report the incident to the authorities.  In any case, she was starting to feel compassion toward her.  She collected herself and, rather than press the issue, changed the subject.  “Urag tells me that you’ve recovered some important books for him.  Books that were stolen and that he was prepared to have written off as lost forever.  He is quite pleased.”

“Yes,” Elspeth grinned.  Urag was so grateful for the returned books that his initial disinterest in her request had taken a turn.  In addition to granting full access to the archive, he had noted some events and individuals mentioned in Nerussa’s letter that might help her narrow down her search.  This didn’t change the fact that she had hundreds of boxes to inspect and thousands of papers to pore over, but it gave her a place to start.

Mirabelle nodded.  “Let’s just assume that the cost of replacing the books would be roughly equivalent to your share of the fine and we will call it even.”  She narrowed her eyes.  “Just this one time.”

“Thank you.”  When Elspeth took her leave, she found Faralda waiting in the hallway.  She directed Elspeth to the Hall of the Elements where Tolfdir was gathering select apprentices and scholars.

In the Hall of the Elements, Elspeth was surprised to see Lydia among the mages.  She was standing with Onmund.  “What are you doing here?” she asked as she approached them.  She nodded and smiled at Onmund, trying to look more composed than she had the night before.  Looking around, she saw J’zargo and Brelyna standing off to the side as well as two other mages, Nirya, an Altmer, and Aine, who appeared to be either a Breton or an Imperial, or perhaps a mix of the two.

Lydia went to respond but was interrupted by Tolfdir who addressed the gathered students.  “The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby; it’s an excellent learning opportunity and I have chosen this group to accompany me for the next phase of the investigation.”  The mages buzzed with excitement.  Except for Onmund, who, Elspeth observed, looked a bit apprehensive.   Tolfdir continued, “Saarthal is not far, but the journey is dangerous and I’ve asked Lydia to accompany us.”

The mages were not quite certain what to make of Tolfdir’s intention to bring Lydia along and they just looked around uneasily, until one made his feelings clear.

“J’zargo is a highly skilled sorcerer, trained in the destruction school of magic!”

“Here we go,” said Onmund quietly while Elspeth and Lydia smirked to themselves.

“Maybe others do,” he shouted.  “But J’zargo needs no housecarl.”

Tolfdir was unruffled by J’zargo’s outburst and addressed the Khajiit in his typical unassuming and warm manner.  “Of course, of course! J’zargo, you are a capable mage.  All of you are capable mages, which is why I’ve asked you to accompany me on the excavation.  But there are reports of an increased number of frost trolls and ice-wraiths on the path.  There are also stories of dragons—”

“Dragons!” J’zargo guffawed.  “Khajiit do not believe in dragons.”  He was adamant.

“You fool,” said Elspeth, now tired of J’zargo’s arrogance and obstinacy.  “I was in Helgen.  I saw the dragon destroy the village.  Khajiit may not believe, but dragons exist.  And at least one is in Skyrim.”

The mages looked over at Elspeth, wide-eyed and curious.  No one said anything, however, and the room grew uncomfortably quiet for a few moments until Tolfdir finally broke the silence.  “Very well then.  We will meet in the courtyard first thing tomorrow morning and walk to Saarthal as a group.”

After Tolfdir dismissed them, Elspeth turned to Onmund and Lydia who were both grinning at her.  “A dragon!” exclaimed Onmund, clearly impressed.  “What were you doing in Helgen?”

“Are you kidding me?”  For a brief moment, Elspeth forgot that some people in Skyrim would ask about Helgen, motivated only by sincere—rather than suspicious—curiosity.  Onmund was one of them.  She only realized this after seeing his face fall.

“I was just asking,” he explained, his voice somewhat deflated.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  She took a deep breath and said, “I wasn’t supposed to be there.  I was wrongly arrested….” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

Onmund was somewhat relieved that he hadn’t offended Elspeth, but was now feeling a bit wary of her.  He excused himself to prepare for the morning’s journey and Elspeth watched him leave.  She felt terrible.

“You really need that amulet, don’t you?”  Lydia was looking at her, arms crossed.  Elspeth couldn’t tell if she was amused by or disappointed in her.  Probably both.

“I told you!”  She frowned.  “Did I forget to mention that I am physically incapable of flirting?”

Lydia offered a reassuring smile.  “Come on,” she said, hooking Elspeth’s arm with hers.  “Let’s go to the Frozen Hearth and wash away that self-loathing you are probably starting to feel with some mead and roasted goat.”  She led Elspeth down the bridge.  “There will be other magic Nords.”  She paused, “Well, probably not.  Of course, there is always—”

“Enough!”  But she laughed in spite of herself, her mood lifted.  And after a very nice meal at the Frozen Hearth with Dagur, Haran, and Eirid, Elspeth went to bed with at least some of her embarrassment abated.

*****

The following morning, Elspeth and Lydia met Onmund in the courtyard.  Onmund greeted them with a large smile, which immediately put Elspeth at ease.  He also wanted a fresh start.  Elspeth didn’t realize this and was simply happy that he did not appear to despise her.  Soon, Tolfdir joined them and he inquired about the rest of the mages.

Onmund sighed and shook his head.  “J’zargo insisted he didn’t need a housecarl and convinced the others to go with him.”  Tolfdir furrowed his brow at this but did not respond.

“He couldn’t convince you?” asked Lydia.

“No,” he replied.  “Although, he thinks I’m being led around by the nose.”  This was not entirely true; J’zargo had actually accused Onmund of being lead around by his throbbing manhood but such comments were not appropriate in mixed company.

“Well,” said Tolfdir.  “We will just have to meet them there or find them along the way—hopefully they haven’t met with any trouble.”  He tone was sharp but not without concern.  Elspeth wondered if the old man was capable of saying anything without at least a modicum of affection.

They made their way down the bridge and across town.  As they left Winterhold, Elspeth and Onmund walked ahead while Lydia and Tolfdir fell slightly behind.  Elspeth could hear Tolfdir start a story about his childhood in Solitude.  Onmund looked back and then nodded to Elspeth as if to assure her that Lydia would be well entertained.  The snow was light and the air refreshing.  Elspeth felt somewhat energized and the cool air helped ease the tensions and anxieties that had plagued their previous interactions.  Onmund was content too, but he was nervous about saying something off putting and so he waited for Elspeth to open the conversation.

Elspeth looked back again.  Tolfdir was still talking and Lydia was smiling, clearly amused and endeared by the old man.  Finally, she turned to Onmund and made an attempt at small talk.  “You and Tolfdir are really the only Nords in the entire college?”

“Yes,” he said.  “We occasionally get some to study healing for a couple of months at a time.  But magic is shunned by most here.  If it can’t be swung over your head and used to crack skulls, most Nords want nothing to do with it.  Magic is seen as something for elves and weaker races.”  He paused and cringed inwardly, regretting that last bit.  “No offense, of course,” he said, wanting desperately to redact that last comment.

“I’m not offended,” she replied, which reassured him.  Elspeth saw that he looked visibly relieved and with the upper hand, she decided to bust his chops a bit.  She narrowed her eyes and said, “I’m also not weak.”  Onmund’s eyes grew wide but before he could wish for the ground to swallow him whole, she let out a giggle.

They walked on, now far more comfortable with each other.  Elspeth relayed the tale of her unfortunate arrival in Skyrim but tempered it by talking about the warm welcome she received from Lydia and her friends in Whiterun.  Onmund talked about his time at the college, which was now approaching four years.  When he first arrived, he assumed he would stay indefinitely, practicing and studying magic, but he was starting to tire of college politics and Winterhold was starting to wear on him.  He also shared his apprehensions about the excavation.

“Skyrim has a rich magical heritage,” he said.  ““It deserves to be studied.  But our ancestors should be allowed to rest in peace.”  Elspeth nodded in agreement but before she could respond, she was interrupted by screams in the distance.  She grabbed her sword and ran ahead with Lydia close behind, her axe drawn.  Soon they caught up to J’zargo who was trying to hold off two frost trolls.  His lightening spell was impressive, but his magicka and stamina were quickly draining and he fell over.  Elspeth threw a fireball at the first troll and charged in, slicing its belly open with her sword.  Meanwhile, Lydia charged forward, cutting the other troll with her axe.   They looked around; the other mages were nowhere to be found.

In the distance, two more frost trolls were approaching and ready to attack.  From behind her, Onmund cast an impressive incineration spell and started shouting at J’zargo to use fire instead of lightening.  J’zargo staggered to his feet and drained his magicka with a wall of flames that knocked the trolls down and allowed Elspeth to finish them off easily with her sword.  However, J’zargo’s look of self-satisfaction was quickly dashed as he was knocked over by an ice-wraith.  And had Lydia not been there, it would have finished him off.

Elspeth and Onmund had three more ice-wraiths to deal with.  They were annoying buggers, ethereal undead creatures that moved quickly and were nearly invisible in the snow.   They circled around and around, and Elspeth grew dizzy as she tried to fight alternating between a fire spell and swatting at them with her sword.  She and Onmund managed to kill two and Lydia ran up and killed the third.  The fight had taken them far from the mountain path close to a slightly elevated rock formation.  As Elspeth, still wobbly from the fight, tried to regain her footing along the rocks, she tumbled forward and crashed right into Onmund.  They both fell over and Elspeth landed on top of him in a position that, until that moment, she swore only happened in the bawdy adventure-romance stories that Yarah used to give her to read.  Onmund must have been thinking something similar because he laughed.  And then, instead of trying to get up, he hugged her waist with his arm and lifted his head to her ear. “Are you okay?” he said softly.  It was the most intimate thing Elspeth had experienced in a very long time.

“Yes,” she said as she blushed furiously.  She looked back toward the path and upon seeing Lydia approach, scrambled to get up.  She waited for Onmund and the three of them found Tolfdir with the missing mages—who had used illusion spells to hide rather than fight—and J’zargo.  No one had been killed or seriously injured and so Tolfdir briefly reiterated the importance of staying together but did not lecture, hoping that the experience would suffice to support his assertion.   After that, the group walked along, quietly and wearily.  And within the hour, they reached Saarthal.


	20. Anywhere Else than Here Today

Sarthaal.  Elspeth had never seen such an impressive excavation.  The Imperial Office of Historical Preservation handled most of the archaeological research in Cyrodill.  Any such research sponsored by Arcane University usually involved a notebook and, perhaps, a table for organizing artifacts.  But Saarthal was something to behold.   The mages had built wooden levels leading down into the pit that held the entrance to the ruins.  The top levels contained two sections: a living area where researchers could camp and a research area where artifacts were stored on shelves, protected by tents.

Tolfdir gathered the mages around.  “We are about to enter the ruins.  The College has taken great pains to ensure the preservation of the ruins.  It is imperative that you follow the basic principles of archaeological research.  Take careful notes but do not remove any artifacts without permission.”

“Do you think there’s treasure here? Something to make J’zargo a powerful wizard?”

The Khajiit apparently did not know when to quit.  Onmund glared at him and Lydia stepped up and said, “If you take anything from these ruins, I will cut your tail off.”  For just a moment, J’zargo looked a bit fearful.  Meanwhile, Lydia turned back to the group and winked at Elspeth and Onmund, who tried to contain their laughter

Tolfdir unlocked the entrance and led the mages down a narrow path and into an open area where wooden scaffolding had been installed.  Tolfdir continued to lecture.  “Saarthal is believed to be the first Nord settlement in Skyrim and is of great interest to the College.  What we hope to discover are various applications of magic throughout history, evidence of magic use either in the form of artifacts or spells.  As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim.  It was also the largest.  Sacked by the elves in the infamous “Night of Tears,” not much is known about what happened to Saarthal.  This is an exciting opportunity for us.  We’re particularly interested in the prevalence of magical seals placed on the tombs here. It’s rather unlike anything we’ve encountered.”  He moved on town to the lowest level of the ruin and started looking around.

Elspeth looked at Onmund, who still appeared apprehensive.  “I wonder if everyone else would be so happy to rifle through the bones of their ancestors,” he said as he shook his head disapprovingly.  “I find it hard to believe this excavation was approved.”

Brelyna, who had earlier been excited about the project, now looked dejected.  “To think, my ancestors destroyed the homes of Onmund’s ancestors.  So much bloodshed,” she said sadly.  Nirya nodded her head and Aine looked on sadly.

“Oh for the love of Talos,” came a voice from behind them.  It was Lydia.  She looked at Brelyna and glowered.  “Enough with the ancestor guilt.  Do you know what happened after the Night of Tears?  Ysgramor returned with his companions, five hundred capable warriors, who kicked the elves all the way to whatever plane of Oblivion would have them.”  Then she turned to Onmund.  “And these are  _my_  ancestors too.  Have you been to any ruins lately?  Have you seen what bandits do to them?  Taking everything they can find.  And necromancers?  Desecrating the burial places with some seriously creepy magic.”  She observed the set up some more.  “Everything here is arranged so carefully, so deliberately.”  Her voice was filled admiration and her curiosity was apparent.  “As far as I’m concerned, the College is the best thing to happen to the ruins.”  Onmund and Brelyna looked a little sheepish but did not respond.  She walked back toward Elspeth and whispered in her ear, “He’s wound a little tight, don’t you think?”

“Shut up,” whispered Elspeth harshly, although she was secretly amused at Lydia’s passion for arcane research.  Balgruuf and Farengar were both strong supporters of these types of investigations.  Lydia had the utmost respect for her ancestors, but try as she might to deny it, she had also been highly influenced by Farengar in the brief time she spent under his tutelage.

“Thank you, Lydia,” said Tolfdir, somewhat surprised at Lydia’s outburst.  “Now, I have assignments here for each of you.  Elspeth, why don’t you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? He’s one of our scholars, here working on cataloging our finds. I expect he’d appreciate some help in locating any additional magical artifacts here in the ruins.  Lydia can go with you.”

Elspeth and Lydia left the rest of the group, heading deeper into the ruin.  They found Arniel in one of the passageways, immersed in his research.  “Arniel?” said Elspeth.  “Tolfdir sent me to help you.”

Arniel looked less than pleased at being interrupted.  He turned and lowered his gaze to them.   “Ah, yes.  You.  I remember you.  You’re going to help?  That’s fine. Just… Just don’t make a mess of my work.  I’ve only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, you can look around in the chambers just north of here. Try to be careful, all right?  We don’t want to damage anything.”  He handed her a notebook and a pen.  “Take this and log any all the enchanted items you can find.”

Elspeth and Lydia walked into the chambers he indicated.  Elspeth threw a magelight up and they began inspecting the room for artifacts.  Lydia found several small rings, but otherwise the room was mostly bare.  They turned a corner and came upon a brightly lit sealed door on which Elspeth found an ancient amulet.  She removed the amulet to make a note of its enchantment and as she did so, a steel gate went up behind her, trapping her and Lydia in the small alcove.  She gasped and ran to the gate.  “Tolfdir!  We’re trapped in here.”  Elspeth tugged at the gate, but it wouldn’t budge.

“What in the world was that racket?  Is everything all right?”  Tolfdir approached the newly sprung gate.  “What happened?” he asked.

“I pulled an amulet off the wall,” she said.  “I’m sorry!”  Her voice was filled with worry and guilt.

“Don’t worry, my dear.”  Tolfdir looked thoughtful for a moment.  “Perhaps the amulet is important in some way.  Is there some way you can use it?”

Elspeth looked around; Lydia had inspected the walls for a handle or lever but found nothing.  It seemed there was little she could do other than try to use the amulet, which she put over her head slowly.  As soon as the talisman touched her skin, the door gave off a subtle golden light and started vibrating and humming.  Elspeth could feel it on her skin as well.

“Do you hear that?” asked Tolfdir.  “It’s some kind of resonance…between you and the wall.  It must be connected to the amulet.”  He paused.  “I wonder what effect your spells might have.”

Elspeth shook her head.  This was going too far.  Lydia sidled up behind her and asked quietly, “Which spell are you going to use?”

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” she said.  “Onmund was right.  Your ancestors deserve to rest in peace and this is taking a turn that isn’t all that peaceful.”

“Perhaps,” said Lydia.  “But we need to get out of here.”

“Just tap it lightly with something,” said Tolfdir.  “Frost! Yes, a little frost won’t do any damage.”

Elspeth sighed and looked at them.  They were both nodding in encouragement.  “Fine,” she said, “but just a light touch.”  She cast a very light frost spell at the doorway, which shattered almost instantly into several large pieces.  Elspeth gasped in horror as Tolfdir came up behind them, the metal gate having been released.

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring.  “We’ll have Arniel find a way to restore it.”  He looked around and moved in toward the newly revealed chamber, “Well this is highly unusual and very interesting.”

“Shouldn’t we just go back?”  Elspeth wasn’t frightened but she was concerned about doing more damage.  Her concerns fell on deaf ears, however, as Tolfdir and Lydia entered the chamber.   She shook her head again and reluctantly followed them down a long, narrow cave, which was mysteriously lit with bright torches.

“Why in the world would this be sealed off?  What is this place?”  Tolfdir was almost breathless with curious anticipation.  As they approached another chamber that appeared to contain an alter, his tone turned cautious “I’m not sure what to expect here.  Please be on your guard.”

As they entered the alter room, Elspeth felt it shake.  But it wasn’t the ground or the walls that were shaking—it was the air.  The space around her turned a silvery-gray and at first she felt dizzy and then she felt cold, though not an uncomfortable cold.  It was almost ethereal, as if her body had slipped into another plane of existence.  And when she saw the apparition of a high elf appear before her, she believed that is exactly what happened.

He was dressed in a stunning set of gold robes with red silk trim.  The robes were held across his chest and torso with silver armor joined at the neck and belly with blue stones set in a silver plate that was engraved with symbols that Elspeth did not recognize—although they seemed somewhat familiar.  The apparition spoke, his voice somehow both calm and fearsome.  “Hold, Elspeth, and listen well.  Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing.  Judgment will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you.  This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, Elspeth, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster.  Take great care, and know that the Order is watching.  And that we have been watching for a long time.”

The apparition faded and Elspeth found herself standing with Lydia and Tolfdir who looked on as if nothing strange had just happened.

“Did you see that?” asked Elspeth breathlessly.  “Did you see the Altmer in the robes?  He said he was from the Psijic Order.  He said there is danger ahead.”

Toldir looked perplexed.  “The Psijic Order? Are you quite sure about that? That’s very odd. And danger ahead?  Why that doesn’t make any sense at all. The Psijics have no connection to these ruins.  And no one’s seen any of their order in a long time.”

Elspeth knew that this wasn’t true, that someone from the Order had been in contact with Arch-mage Relamus before the Thalmor purged Arcane.  She also suspected that Ilario had connections with the Order, but she chose not to correct Tolfdir.  She simply furrowed her brow.  “Why would they contact me?” she asked.  “Why now?  Why here?”  For a moment she wondered if it had something to do with surviving the purge, but she quickly pushed that out of her head.

“I have no idea, but it’s fascinating. Assuming it’s true, of course. The Isle of Artaeum disappeared over a hundred years ago, and no one has seen them since. And yet now, suddenly, they have chosen to contact you? Why, it’s intriguing! If nothing else, I’d take it as a compliment. The Psijics have only ever dealt with those they feel worthy.”  Tolfdir was growing excited and urged them to push forward.  Lydia suggested that she and Elspeth take the lead and Tolfdir agreed.

As they proceeded through the ruins, they confronted several draugr bursting from their coffins.  At the far end of a large, open room, they saw a bright, beautiful glow emanating off a huge, spinning orb that appeared to be encased in a swirling energy barrier.  The group approached slowly, wide-eyed and amazed.  “Well now… would you look at that,” exclaimed Tolfdir, the astonishment in his voice was apparent.  “I never imagined we’d find something like this. Why is this buried so far within Saarthal?”  However, as he went to approach the orb, he was interrupted by the largest, most terrifying draugr deathlord that Elspeth and Lydia had ever seen.

Elspeth and Lydia charged forward, but were immediately thrown across the room just as Lydia had been in Bleak Falls Barrow.  Tolfdir threw up a powerful ward that kept the draugr’s destruction magic at bay and Elspeth scrambled to her feet to join him.  However, there was no way they could keep this up indefinitely and Elspeth was uncertain of what to do next.  Tolfdir looked around and gestured toward the orb, from which the draugr appeared to be drawing energy.  He let his ward down and quickly turned to the orb on which he cast a powerful chain lighting spell.

The spell succeeded in making the draugr somewhat vulnerable and Elspeth was able to strike him with a fire spell while Lydia rushed in, cutting at him with her axe.  After some time they were able to defeat him although both were quite weary and injured by the end.  Elspeth was keeled over on her side while Lydia groaned in pain from behind her.  Tolfdir handed them potions and took care of Lydia’s most serious injury with Healing Hands.  When they were fully recovered, the looked up and observed the orb.

“What is this?” asked Lydia.  Her dark hair caught glints of light from the orb’s glow as she approached it slowly.  She looked how Elspeth imagined a wispmother might.

Tolfdir’s face was lit up by both the glow of the orb and in astonishment at the discovery.  “I have no idea!  This is amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  The Arch-Mage needs to be informed immediately.  He needs to see this for himself.  I don’t dare leave this unattended.  Can you return to the College and inform Savos Aren of this discovery? Please, hurry.”  He gestured toward a door behind the orb.  “Perhaps you can get out that way.  Oh, and take the rest of the students back with you as well.  And don’t forget to leave the amulet with me.”

Elspeth and Lydia nodded and made their way out the door, which, was, in fact, an exit.  Outside of the ruins they found the rest of the mages waiting and Lydia informed them it was time to go home.  J’zargo and Nirya approached them excitedly.  They had heard noises and wanted to know what they found.  Elspeth looked at them and walked past, shaking her head.  She was exhausted and wanted to go home.  She looked around for Onmund who was standing off in the distance.  She was suddenly anxious, and not simply because of the strange orb and the message from the Psijic Order.  Would he forgive her for what they had done, what they had uncovered in the ruins?  But Onmund just smiled and waited for her to catch up.

The group was mostly quiet as they walked back to Winterhold; it was very late and everyone was tired.  Lydia briefly described the events of the evening; mentioning only the orb and the draugr and leaving out the apparition that spoke with Elspeth.  Back at the College, the students made their way back to the Hall of Attainment while Elspeth and Lydia went to the Hall of the Elements and up to the Arch-mage’s quarters.  It was very late, but Elspeth thought he might be up.  Her assumptions proved correct.

Savos welcomed them into his chambers although he looked somewhat concerned.  “Please don’t tell me that another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now.”

“All the apprentices made it back,” Elspeth assured him.  “We’ve found something in Saarthal, and Tolfdir thinks it’s important.  He remained behind to guard it.”  Savos simply nodded in silence at this and so Elspeth continued, “Also, I was contacted by the Psjilic Order while we were in the ruins.  An apparition appeared to me and only to me.” Savos’s eyes widened and he looked a bit fearful for a moment before collecting himself.

“Very interesting!” He said, his tone suddenly curt.  “We will investigate this at once.  You can find your way out.”  He turned suddenly and went to the back of his chambers, leaving the women looking at each other, mouths agape.  After a few moments, they left and went back toward the Hall of Attainment.

Back in Elspeth’s room, Lydia insisted on sitting with a very nervous Elspeth.  They stretched out on Elspeth’s bed and she listened while Elspeth confided her new anxieties, which were really more of the same that had been plaguing her since her arrival.  Except now she was feeling just as concerned about the College and the rest of the mages, as well as herself.  How long had the Psijic Order been watching?  Had they seen her at Arcane?  Elspeth was overwhelmed and exhausted.  She put her head, now spinning with questions, down on the pillow.  She looked back at Lydia and tried to tell her that they would need to press Savos soon and perhaps consult with Urag—but she could feel her own voice fading as she felt fast asleep.


	21. A Lot of Bad and, Beware

Elspeth woke to something hard pressing into her back and something wet running down her neck.  She turned and found Lydia, still in her armor, draped over her—her left bracer jammed between Elspeth’s back and the blanket.  “Lydia!” she exclaimed as she rolled out from underneath her friend.  “Wake up!”  She got out of bed, grabbed a cloth, and started wiping her neck.

Lydia sat upright and looked around in utter surprise.  “What happened?”  She blinked and rubbed her eyes furiously.

“You fell asleep,” explained Elspeth.  “And you drooled all over me.”

“Oh,” said Lydia.  “That’s okay, you should probably get used to Nord slobber all over you.”  She wiped her chin with the back of her hand.  “What time is it?”

Elspeth looked at the clock.  “It’s just after 4.  We must have slept all afternoon.”  She looked around and saw a small piece of paper on the floor by the doorway, which she picked up and read.

_Come to Kralder’s house at 5 o’clock this evening.  Tell no one apart from your housecarl._

It was unsigned.  Elspeth handed it to Lydia and asked, “Who is Kraldar?”

“He is a nobleman who lives in town,” she explained.  “I met him the other night at the Frozen Hearth.  He claims to be a friend of Savos and I am going to assume that’s true because I can’t imagine a Nord in this town saying such a thing otherwise.”  She folded the letter and handed it back to Elspeth.  “He’s an affable fellow.  Reminds me a bit of Jon Battle-Born, only not quite as….” Lydia’s voice trailed off.

“Sullen?” asked Elspeth.

“Yes,” Lydia laughed. “We should probably go soon.  Let’s get some food first.”  She stretched some more and adjusted her armor.

In the dining hall, they saw Onmund, J’zargo, Brelyna, Aine, and Nirya.  They too looked tired and famished as they greeted Elspeth and Lydia with weary smiles and nods.  Lydia looked around at the mages, her eyes suddenly bright and excited.  She walked up behind Onmund and clapped her hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch.  He turned and looked up at her warily.

“Well!” Lydia exclaimed as she looked at the rest of the mages.  “I think some of you owe Elspeth, Onmund, and me a drink for saving your bottoms yesterday.”  The mages did not appear to disagree and so she continued, “except for you J’zargo.”  Her eyes narrowed and she looked intently at him.  J’zargo looked crestfallen for a moment before he recovered his usual haughty demeanor.  He tried to protest but Lydia interrupted.  “J’zargo owes Lydia two drinks.”  The mages laughed.  “I will see you all at the Frozen Hearth tonight, yes? 7 o’clock.”  She looked around at the group as they nodded in agreement.  Lydia and Elspeth filled their bags with some food and left.  By the time they arrived in town, it was nearing 5 o’clock and so they went straight to Kraldar’s house.

At Kraldar’s they were greeted first by his housecarl, Thonjolf.  Kraldar welcomed them into his home and gestured toward a small table by the fire at which Arch-mage Savos was sitting.  “Savos asked if he could hold a private conference with you,” explained Kraldar.  “I am happy to oblige.  Not all of us are suspicious of the College.”  He smiled warmly.  “Thonjolf and I will be at the Frozen Hearth while you confer with Savos.”

Elspeth looked over at the Arch-mage.   The light of the fire betrayed worry in his face; his eyes, normally the fierce eyes characteristic of the Dumer, now appeared burdened.  She studied his face some more.  Then she turned to Lydia and said, “You should go back to the Frozen Hearth.  I’ll meet you there.”

“Are you sure?”  Lydia wasn’t particularly worried; Elspeth would be safe with the Arch-mage, but it was unlike Elspeth to dismiss her.  Elspeth gave her a reassuring nod and Lydia left with the men.

Elspeth joined Savos at the table.  He moved to give her room and poured her a tankard of mead, which Elspeth gladly accepted.   After she had taken a sip and settled comfortably in her chair, Savos began speaking.  His voice was tense, but he wasn’t holding anything back now.  “I’m afraid I haven’t been very honest with you, Elspeth.”  He paused.  “I hope you understand the difficulty of my position.”

Ancano, Elspeth thought to herself.  She nodded slowly, not entirely certain that she wanted him to continue.  But she knew he would and so she braced herself.

He took a deep breath and resumed speaking, his tone was less tense now but very  deliberate.  “Arch-mage Relamus actually mentioned you in his correspondence.  Several times in fact.  Not by name, but I am certain it was you.  He said he’d found a mage talented enough to learn his Bane.”  Elspeth continued to nod slowly.  Normally she would have swelled with pride at such knowledge, but now she was filled with dismay.

“I also know that Relamus had been contacted by the Psijic Order, and that one of your instructors, an Altmer called Illario, was an apprentice of the Order.  Obviously, this was before the incident at Arcane.”

“Is that why the Psijic Order is contacting me now?  Because I survived the Purge?”  Elspeth’s dread and anxiety were starting to make her feel sick.

Savos looked intently at her.  “Elspeth, what I am going to tell you might be difficult for you to hear.”  He paused and sat back in his chair—not to relax but to give himself a moment to consider his next statement.  “The Psijic Order, although elitist in their own right, have always opposed the Thalmor.  And many believe that they are taking steps to make that opposition known.  But they have no army.  They have few, if any, battlemages or spellswords.  So, they’ve been looking for someone, a warrior…or a champion.  That’s what the Imperials might call such an individual, yes? Someone who they might advise.”  And with this statement he gestured toward Elspeth.

Her eyes grew wide.  “Me?  Why me?”

Savos smiled.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you happen to be a very powerful destruction mage.”  He sighed.  “So many things were changing at the University.  Relamus was starting to resist the Thalmor’s control over him.  He hired Illario to teach Mysticism.  Illario was the Altmer who wrote the definitive tome on the apotheosis of Talos.  This infuriated the Thalmor.”

“Relamus made it sound like the Order wanted to take over everything,” explained Elspeth.  “They were going to support the University if the Thalmor withdrew their support.”

“Yes,” agreed Savos.  “But, the administrative issues were not their primary concern.  And the Psijics are very particular. They are not inclined to lend support to political causes.  But, they were interested in you. I don’t think they knew who you were then, but they do now.  I believe casting that spell alerted them.”  He closed his eyes and put his face in his hands.

“What?  What is it?” asked Elspeth; her voice was trembling with a mix of curiosity and fear.  What was he holding back now?

Finally he looked up and said, “Elspeth, some of us believe that the Thalmor in Imperial City were aware of the Order’s plans.  And that the incident at Arcane was not intended to punish the University for its defiance over the Mysticism ban—although the timing was certainly convenient.  They…we believe they were targeting the powerful mage the Order was seeking.”

Elspeth’s eyes grew wide and she was filled with a sense of terror unlike she’d ever felt before.  She swallowed hard and as the full realization of what Savos was telling her set in, her eyes filled with tears.  “Oh gods,” she exclaimed.  “It was my fault.  They were looking for me!”  She practically choked on these last words.

“I’m so sorry, Elspeth,” said Savos, wishing desperately that he could console her in some way.  But consolation wasn’t what she needed.  She needed the truth.

Elspeth was no stranger to survivor’s guilt.  From the moment that Andil’s mother had taken her aside and said, “It should have been you,”—reminding her that Andil would not have attended Arcane had it not been for her urging—she’d felt its pain.  But this, this was more than she could bear.  She stood up and looked around, finally declaring,  “I have to leave.”  She thought of the College, of Onmund and Tolfdir and the other mages she was only beginning to become friendly with.  “I can assure you that Lydia and I will be out of Winterhold within the hour.”  She stood up and started to back away slowly.  She was shaking and found it difficult to steady herself.

Savos stood up abruptly and bellowed, “No!  You will do no such thing.”

“Ancano saw me cast that spell,” she protested.  “The Thalmor know I’m here.  They’ll purge the entire College if I don’t leave!”

“Elspeth, sit down,” he said, his tone a combination of pleading and insisting  She sat back down and looked at him.  His eyes had regained their fierceness.  “First of all, let me assure you that the College of Winterhold is safer than Arcane University was.  We have access to power you can’t even begin to imagine.  Power that the Relamus had surrendered when the Thalmor put him in charge.  They left the University vulnerable on purpose, so that he would always have to depend on them.” He cleared his throat.   “The Thalmor know better than to attempt a purge on  _my_  institution.”

Elspeth shook her head.  “I can’t.  If anything happened….”

“Urag told me that you are looking for someone.  You came here on a quest and you will complete that quest.”  Savos was adamant.  “I will not let the Thalmor terrorize and control me they way they did Relamus.”  His tone then softened a bit.  “And if you are, indeed, the one that the Psijic Order is looking for, then I want the whole College behind you.”

“But what about Ancano?”  Elspeth was still not convinced.  “Won’t the Thalmor know it’s me now?”

“If that is the case, then you are the one in danger, not the College.   And personally, I would rather have you here.”  Savos said, his tone now matter-of-fact.  “As for Ancano….” Savos shook his head in exasperation.  “I think he’s little more than a thorn in my side than a threat to you.  The Thalmor just don’t have the kind of power here that they had at Arcane.  Elenwen and her council came by to confirm our adherence to the ban on teaching the apotheosis of Talos, which is really the only part of their ban on Mysticism that applies here.  He showed up later, unannounced.  Since then, he’s had no contact with any justiciars or other Thalmor operatives since he arrived.  He brought no soldiers to accompany him, which is virtually unheard of in Skyrim.”  Savos paused and took a sip of his mead. “All my sources say that he is something of an outsider.  That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.  You should still proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” Elspeth said weakly.

“Mirabelle and I will keep an eye on him,” he assured her.  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a College to run.”  He got up and they left Kraldar’s house together.  Before they parted he said, “Come to me if something urgent comes up.  In the meantime, however, I think it’s best you proceed with your studies and research as normal.”

Elspeth pondered everything as she walked slowly over to the Frozen Hearth, where she found Lydia chatting with Kraldar and Thonjolf.  She nodded to them and asked for Lydia’s room key.  And while Lydia finished her conversation and mead, Elspeth went into her room and collapsed, face first, onto the bed.  When Lydia returned, she sat next to Elspeth.  “What happened?”

Elspeth rolled over and relayed all the information from Savos.  By the end, she couldn’t control the crying.  Lydia just waited patiently.

“I don’t agree with Savos,” said Elspeth.  “We need to leave tonight.  We can go back to Bruma and find Xeri and then, I don’t know…do something…not here.”

Lydia shook her head furiously.  “No!” she said sternly.  “Savos is absolutely correct.”

“But—”

“Let me tell you something about Skyrim,” Lydia interrupted her.  “Skyrim is a dangerous place.  Between the war, the Thalmor, the frost Trolls—no one is safe here.  And magic, magic is dangerous.  Things are dangerous all the time—not simply because this magical Order has taken an interest in you.”  She put her arm on Elspeth’s shoulder and looked at her closely.  “We came here on a quest and we are going to finish it.”  She paused.  “You know, Xeri didn’t charge me with protecting you.  She wanted me to help you keep a clear head and temper some of your more impulsive tendencies.  And this is what you are going to do.  You are going to comb the void out of that archive.  You are going ingratiate yourself in the College.  And you are woo that Nord mage with the ancestor shaped stick up his prat.”

“You know, if you were really my housecarl, you couldn’t order me around like that,” said Elspeth facetiously.

Lydia grinned.  She had been following Elspeth’s story for a long time.  In her correspondence, Runa sent detailed accounts of her young charge, who trained diligently, day and night, under the strict watch of Xeri.  And so, Lydia was determined to guide Elspeth as she had been instructed.  But as dangerous as life could be in Skyrim, it could also be exhilarating.  Nords knew revelry and passion like few others, and Lydia was also determined to have Elspeth experience some of that as well.

“Okay,” said Elspeth.  After a few moments, she felt a little better.  “We’ll proceed as normal.”

“Terrific,” said Lydia as she stood up.  She walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a folded garment.  “I’m so glad we’re friends,” she said.  “I got you this gift.”  She handed it to Elspeth.  It was a dress.  “I hoped you would wear it tonight,” she said.

Lydia’s gift made Elspeth very happy.  She didn’t often wear dresses, preferring tunics and wool pants for street clothing.  But this one was lovely.  It was pine green colored, which Lydia said was to bring out the flecks of green in Elspeth’s hazel eyes.  She removed her robe and pulled the dress over her head.  Lydia came up from behind and helped to tie the back, tightening the bodice—and that was when Elspeth could tell exactly how low the neckline fell.

“Oh,” said Elspeth as she observed the bare expanse of chest that was now exposed.  “I see what you did there.”  She put her hands on her hips and furrowed her brow.

“You look so pretty,” said Lydia, ignoring her objections.  “It fits perfectly!”  She took a comb from the side table and started fixing the tangles in Elspeth’s hair.  “I am going to braid your hair soon,” she said.  “Think about how lovely these blond streaks will look in warrior braids.  Let’s go, the mages should be here by now.”

As they left Lydia’s room, Elspeth protested that while continuing her quest at the College was prudent—perhaps pursuing a love interest was not.  In response, Lydia simply rolled her eyes.  As they neared the common area of the inn, Elspeth suddenly stopped and ran back to Lydia’s room, shutting the door behind them.  She fell against the wall, breathing heavily—as if she’d seen something terrifying.

“What?” said Lydia, “What is it?”

“He’s got really nice hair,” said Elspeth weakly.  “It’s really dark brown and his braids are sort of…interesting.”  She was blushing so furiously that she broke out in sweat.

“My gods Elspeth, what am I going to do with you?”  Lydia smacked her palm against her forehead before she started laughing uproariously.  “Wait,” she said suddenly.  “You’ve never seen his hair?”

“Apprentices don’t take their hoods off,” explained Elspeth, shrugging her shoulders.  “It’s a thing.”

“Oh, okay.”  Lydia seemed skeptical.  She waited for Elspeth to catch her breath before leading her back out.  The mages had secured a large table.  Lydia observed their seating arrangement; Onmund was sitting at the end of the table between J’zargo and the wall.  She shook her head and muttered quietly, “This will not do.”  When they approached the table, Lydia grabbed J’zargo’s shoulders.  He immediately squealed and threw both arms over his head, as if he expected Lydia to hurt him, which sent the rest of the mages into fits of giggles.  Much to his surprise, Lydia smiled warmly and announced that J’zargo would help her carry the first round of mead.  And when he agreed and got up, Lydia practically shoved Elspeth into his seat—right next to Onmund, who was very happy to see her.

They chatted a bit until J’zargo and Lydia returned with tankards filled with mead.  Lydia squeezed herself between Elspeth and Brelyna and dropped a set of dice in front of Onmund.  “Roll.”


	22. Now, I Don't Hardly Know Her

“We shouldn’t have been disturbing Saarthal, no matter what you found down there.” Onmund responded to Lydia’s inquiry about the strange glowing orb that was now floating above the well in the Hall of the Elements.  To Lydia and the rest of the mages, he tried to appear unwavering in his opinion but when she looked away, he winked at Elspeth.

“Isn’t the fact that you are studying at the College an affront to your ancestors?” asked Nirya sardonically.

“Yes,” replied Onmund, “yes it is.”  He smiled.  “And one I am quite proud of.”  He paused and turned his full attention back to Elspeth, “Nords don’t trust magic or those who use it.  Made it difficult for me growing up.”  He paused and finished his mead.  “And Nirya doesn’t let me forget it.”  He tipped his tankard toward her, his mockery obvious.   Elspeth smirked and glanced back down toward Nirya who looked irritated.

The other mages seemed unfazed, but Elspeth and Lydia were perplexed by her.  She appeared to have no interest in their game and she hadn’t touched her mead.  She just sat there, scowling and occasionally interjecting snarky comments.  Why had she come out at all?   In any case, Lydia was determined not let the high elf’s attitude ruin was becoming a very enjoyable evening.  She was even enjoying J’zargo’s company, especially his stories of Elsweyr and how he came to study at the College.

“Mages in Cyrodiil are all about politics. The Synod and the College of Whispers and the Thalmor are too busy guarding secrets to bother to teach.  Skyrim was not J’zargo’s first choice, but Winterhold is removed from politics, dedicated to study. This is the place for J’zargo to become great,” he explained.  “Skyrim could not be more different from Elsywer but magic, magic is the same wherever you go.”

“Clearly you have never been to Morrowind,” said Elspeth.  She didn’t bother correcting his assumptions about the mages in Cyrodill.  Thinking about her former instructors was entirely too painful.

“I told you!” exclaimed Brelyna.  “Magic IS different in Morrowind.”

“J’zargo does not see how that could be possible,” he protested.

“It just is,” said Elspeth.  “Morrowind is the last place where the old magic was practiced.  Levitation.  Intervention.  That magic disappeared when the Nevarine defeated Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal, but the air in Morrowind still hums with its residue.”

“You seem to know a lot about Dunmer history,” said Onmund, trying to bring Elspeth’s attention back to him.

“Well,” she responded.  “My mentor in Cyrodill was a Dunmer.  She had a way of dropping information into my head while adjusting my grip or fighting stance.”  She grinned and looked back toward Brelyna again.

Lydia observed the interaction between Elspeth and Onmund.  They were not connecting and she wanted to figure out why.  As far as Lydia was concerned, he was doing everything right.  His gestures were assertive without being aggressive and he was charming without being smarmy.  All he wanted, it seemed, was to hold her attention for a minute, just long enough for her to understand that he liked her—plain and simple.  The problem was Elspeth.  Either she was completely oblivious to his interest or she was trying to ease her anxiety by not paying him too much attention.  Knowing Elspeth as she did, it was likely both.

When he excused himself from the table to refill some of their empty tankards, Lydia leaned over and whispered, “You’re killing me, Elspeth.  You need to pay more attention to him.”

“What?”

“You’re the only person in this room he wants to talk to.”  She looked up.  “Here he comes, now do that cute half-smile thing you do and ignore the rest of us.”

“All right, fine.”  Elspeth took a deep breath and when he sat down, she did just as Lydia advised.  She started by apologizing, half jokingly, for disturbing his ancestors and he laughed and assured her it was fine.  They both agreed that the problem was less research and more that mages had a penchant for making big messes of things.  Onmund then entertained her with stories about his first attempts at mixing potions in his mother’s kitchen and the disasters that ensued, which inspired his grandmother to buy him an alembic, much to his father’s dismay.  “I’m still not much of an alchemist,” he said.  “They weren’t exactly thrilled when I moved on to illusion magic, but at least it was tidier.”  He smiled.  “When did you start casting spells?”

“I’m a Breton,” she said, “we start at our mother’s breast.”  She took a drink of mead.  “I’ve been casting lights and wards since I was wee, but I was six when I cast my first fire ball.”  She grinned.

“That’s young for destruction,” said Onmund, raising his eyebrows.  “How did it go?”

“I burned down a stable,” she said, enjoying the look of amazement on Onmund’s face.  They continued in this vein for a while, happy to ignore the rest of their group’s conversations, until things got heated between Nirya and Aine.

“…you can’t be serious,” said Aine.  Her voice had risen considerably, which was unusual for her and she sounded disgusted about something.  “You really think that it was their fault?”

“That’s not what I said,” protested Nirya.

“Well, you’re going to have to explain your position again,” said Aine.  “Because it sounded to me like you think the mages at Arcane could have prevented what happened.”

This immediately piqued Elspeth’s interest and she and Lydia and the rest of the mages turned to listen.

“The mages and the Arch-mage rejected a direct order of the Thalmor.  If it was the Thalmor, and that’s never been proven—“

“Well of course, it’s never been proven you twit.  The Thalmor ran the investigation!”  Aine, who was normally very prim and proper, was furious.

Nirya continued, unabashed by this.  “If it was the Thalmor, and I actually agree that it probably was, no one should have been surprised that there was a reaction.  The reaction was pretty harsh, sure, but no one should sit back and pretend like they can’t believe  _something_ happened _._ ”  She shook her head as if was amazed that she had to explain herself.

“ _Pretty harsh_?” repeated Lydia, slowly, in utter disbelief at what she was hearing.

“Well, what did they think would happen when Relamus hand delivered that petition to the justiciar’s office?”  She asked smugly.  “That they would change their mind?  We’re talking about the Thalmor.”

The veteran mages were used to Nirya’s dismissive opinions and over-the-top arguments, where she would drive her points into the ground, regardless of how illogical and insulting they were.  She was insecure and competitive and she liked to blather on about politics and philosophy.  Moreover, she had become entirely too accustomed to not being challenged, simply because it was easier for others to roll their eyes and change the topic to sweet rolls than indulge her. It gave her a false sense of accomplishment that was now about to end.

Elspeth was furious.  All her feelings of rage and sadness and terror—new and old—came to the surface at once.  She slammed her tankard so hard the table shook.  “Do you really think _surprised_  is how people felt after what happened at Arcane?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nirya rolled her eyes.

Lydia braced herself for a fight, but Elspeth kept talking.  “Do you have any idea how ludicrous you sound?  The Thalmor are treacherous, but you do not get to be dismissive and argue that the purge was nothing more than the logical consequence of a university petition.”  Her grip around the tankard was tightening and her knuckles had turned white.  “You don’t get to sit back and make broad generalizations about things you couldn’t possibly understand and then pretend it’s not a big deal.  Do you have any idea what it was like at Arcane?  Before and then after the purge?”

“Do you?”  Nirya snarled.  She knew perfectly well that Elspeth had studied at Arcane University.  However, she was livid that Elspeth was challenging her like this.

Elspeth released her grip from her cup, stood up, and stormed out.  After a few moments of stunned silence, Onmund went after her while Lydia turned her attention to Nirya.

Outside, Elspeth collapsed onto a bench.  She breathed in hard; the cold air alleviated her immediate need to scream and she sat back, her feelings of rage giving way to something raw and empty.   Onmund came out of the Frozen Hearth and sat next to her.  He didn’t say anything; he just sat quietly.

Finally, Elspeth broke the silence.  “Did you know that I was the one who found them?  At Arcane.  My friend and I went into town to study over brandy and wine and came back to….” Her voice trailed off as a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  He was at a loss as to what he could possibly say that would comfort her.  But he felt compelled to say something.  “I think you are the first person to ever make Nirya feel small.”

“That’s pretty cold comfort,” she said although her face had softened somewhat.

“Everything in Skyrim is cold,” he said as he placed his hand on her cheek, wiping a tear from her face with his thumb.

Not your hand, thought Elspeth as she took his wrist and pressed her face into his palm.  He sat a little closer and pulled her into a warm embrace.  She buried her face in his chest and cried, but not for fear or sadness or anger.  Not this time.  These tears were for a whole host of feelings she had not acknowledged in a very long time—if ever.  They were for deprivation, for all the things she had been denied in the months following the purge: affection, intimacy, adoration.

After several moments, Elspeth calmed down and she and Onmund sat quietly and comfortably on the porch together.  The door to the Frozen Hearth slammed shut and they looked up to see Nirya stomp down the stairs and walk angrily back toward the College.  Onmund’s eyes were wide with what could only be described as mild amazement.  “What is it?” asked Elspeth, not entirely sure why the sight of a woman storming out of a tavern would cause surprise.  After all, she had just done the same thing.

“We can  _never_  get her to leave,” replied Onmund, grinning.  “Shall we go back?”  Elspeth nodded; she was getting cold and she assumed Lydia would be concerned.  Inside, the mages were laughing and Lydia had a look of self-satisfaction on her face that was so unfamiliar it startled Elspeth.

“Ah, my Lydia put the fear of the Eight, those old Dumeri gods, and possibly some Daedric princes into Nirya.  And made her go away.  It was the most beautiful thing J’zargo has ever seen.”  He batted his eyelashes at Lydia who then instructed him to refill the empty tankards.  He smiled.  “J’zargo is happy to oblige.”

“I’d like to say she’s not always so wretched but she is.  We’ve just never held her accountable.  It was just easier to ignore her,” said Brelyna.  “I’m sorry.”  Elspeth waved her apology away and smiled.

J’zargo returned and passed around drinks, making sure that Lydia’s tankard was wiped clean of dripping mead before he placed it in front of her.  They resumed their game and storytelling and did not stop until several hour later when J’zargo’s head started bobbing up and down, Brelyna and Aine were slurring their words, and Onmund’s eyelids looked heavy and he appeared to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

The mages and Elspeth walked back to the College together.  Onmund was rather quiet now and when J’zargo staggered and fell by the base of the bridge, he and Brelyna rushed over—laughing as they gathered the intoxicated Khajiit up and helped him to the Hall of Attainment.  The group left Elspeth by her room.  Onmund had hoped to see her to her door alone, but J’zargo needed quite a bit of help.  So, Elspeth and Onmund simply smiled at each other as he helped J’zargo, who was nattering on about housecarls and exercising his feline charms.


	23. Septims from Heaven

_The bodies were piled so high she had to climb over them, digging her hands and kicking feet into dead flesh.  There were so many bodies.  And she was alone.  Yarah had tumbled and fallen into the void while Elspeth kept climbing.  Up ahead, a tall figure in a Thalmor robe stood waiting.  His lips never moved but his voice echoed in her head.  We were just looking for you—_

Elspeth woke with a start, trembling and drenched in cold sweat.  The dream was an old friend with a new twist.  She fell back on to her pillow and kicked off her covers as feelings of dread and anxiety crept into her gut.  After a few moments, she shut her eyes and forced thoughts of Thalmor and the University and the Purge out of her head, trying to focus on the night before, on Onmund and the ease with which he’d taken her in his arms, and on the solace that she found there.  The terror from the images abated, only to be replaced with a new and somewhat frivolous—although not less intense—feeling of anxiety.

She stood up and dressed and by the time she got to the tap to wash, she had alleviated her unease by convincing herself that he was probably just being nice.  Although this settled the nervousness in her stomach, it did not actually make her feel better.

“Hello Elspeth!”  A jovial voice rang through the wash room.  It was Aine.  She looked weary but she was grinning as she finished up her business.  “Onmund is in the alchemy lab.”

“Oh?” said Elspeth trying to hide her excitement.  “Was he looking for me?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “Probably.”  She winked as she exited, leaving Elspeth—once again—feeling like she had to remind herself that  _he was just being nice_.  Lydia would have smacked her on the back of the head had she known such thoughts were traipsing through her mind.

She went upstairs to the lab where she found Onmund cradling his head in his hands, “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, but not too loudly.  He looked up and smiled wanly, “Hello.  How are you?”  His eyelids were still somewhat heavy looking and his face betrayed the pain in his head.

“I’m fine.  You look terrible.”  Elspeth cringed inwardly as soon as the words left her mouth.

Onmund, however, didn’t seem to mind.  He laughed and said, “Thanks.  I always drink more than I should at the Hearth, but last night was excessive.”

“I thought Nords were supposed to be able to hold their mead.”

“Haven’t you figured out yet that I’m really not a very good Nord?”

Elspeth laughed, “Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did.”  He smiled again and locked his eyes to hers, “Quite a bit, actually.”

This made her stomach flutter.  He had the most amazing smile.   She looked at him quizzically and asked, “Do we have torchbugs and chitlin here?”

“Yes.  Help yourself to whatever you need.”

Elspeth started gathering ingredients and supplies: chitlin, torchbug thorax, garlic, honey, mortar, pestle.  Taking care not to be too loud, she mashed the thorax and chitlin together with the garlic and then mixed in the honey.  Onmund looked on with suspicious amusement.  She looked so very serious as she worked.  Finally, she scooped up the ingredients.  “Here.  Eat this.”

Onmund was suspicious. “It smells awful.”

“Just swallow it quickly.  Do it.”

He took the spoon and swallowed.  He made a terrible face, “What was that?”

“Nothing.  I just wanted to see if I could get you to eat something gross.”

“Are you kidding me?” Onmund was slightly less amused now.

“How do you feel?”

He paused for a moment and smiled.  “Better, wow.  Pretty good actually.  Did you learn that at Arcane?”

“No.  The head of the fighter’s guild in Bruma taught us that.  I think he tried to sell it once, but the chitlin breaks down too fast to be effective.  Apparently you can only use it about once a month or you develop a tolerance to it.”

“It’s too bad.  We could make a killing here.  Do you want some tea?”

“Yes.” Elspeth’s anxiety was starting to return.  She was unsure of what she was going to say next.  Tea would help.  At the very least it would give her something to do with her hands.  She frantically searched her mind for something else to discuss but nothing seemed to come as effortlessly as Shazir’s Amazing Hangover Elixir.

Onmund brought two steaming cups of tea. “Now, were you going to mix potions, or did you just come here to cure my hangover?”

Elspeth had an abundance of potions and no real need to practice alchemy.  All she wanted was to sit and laugh with him but for some reason decided he probably shouldn’t know that.  She wasn’t insecure or even coy.  Years of little more than training and studying with only a handful of confidantes at her disposal had left her with an abundance of conflicting advice and very little experience in matters of the heart.   So, she lied.  “Um…do you have any adept Alteration books?” she stammered somewhat, now with her anxiety in full effect.  She wasn’t a great liar and she desperately needed Lydia’s confidence and irreverence toward courtship rituals.

“I do.  As a matter of fact, I think I have most of them.  I’ll be right back.”

She let out a deep breath after he left and started cleaning up her mess.  Why was  _talking_ suddenly so difficult?  Elspeth, who had no problem trading barbs with court stewards and other officials, was suddenly finding it immensely difficult to form words in front of a very nice mage.  Of course, she never had to flirt before.  Andil’s affection for her had been uncomplicated and obvious.  She never needed to draw him to her because he had always been there.  Well, until he wasn’t.  Elspeth was deep in these thoughts as she cleaned up supplies.  So when Onmund brushed up from behind she was startled and, with the maneuver that quite possibly landed her a spot on the Imperial deathcart, she spun around and struck; the side of her arm and elbow caught his rib cage.

Elspeth’s face fell in horror as he dropped the books and keeled over. “Oh my gods, I am so sorry,” she exclaimed as she grabbed him to stop him from falling forward.  And then she felt guilty for letting out an inappropriate gasp of pleasure upon feeling his back through his robe.  She helped him over to a chair and knelt by him, looking into his face for some assurance that he was not injured and also not completely furious with her.  She squeezed his arm, “Are you okay?  I am so, so sorry.  I have to stop doing that.”  She was so embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed that Onmund’s gasps of pain had given way to stifled laughter.

Indeed, flirting was going incredibly well. “I’m normally very careful, I just have this response when I’m startled….” she started to explain.

“You know, if you wanted me to be uncomfortable, you could have just left me with my hangover,” Onmund teased. When he saw the look of sheer mortification on her face he grabbed her hand and said seriously, “I’m fine.”

The touch of his hand had sent the flutters from Elspeth’s stomach straight up to her chest.  She was oblivious to his light-hearted attempts at teasing, and his now serious face and tone turned her nervous energy from anticipation to confusion. Elspeth didn’t seem to understand that, to Onmund, everything she did was adorable—even if it left him keeled over and with the air knocked out of his lungs. “Okay,” she said quietly, almost imperceptibly, worrying now that the sheer sound of her voice might suddenly knock him from the chair. “But I should probably go now.”  She picked the books up from the floor.  “Thanks for these.  I’ll bring them back when I’m finished.”  She backed away and turned to leave, wanting to run straight out of the College and never return, the search for Nerussa be damned.

“You know,” said Onmund as if she wasn’t desperately trying to escape, “Now that my appetite has returned, I will probably cook dinner instead of crawling into bed when I’m finished here.”

“Okay…,” she said slowly as she turned back around, still slightly mortified and entirely oblivious.

“Will you be here tonight?”

She nodded, “I’ll be around tonight.  Maybe later though, if Lydia needs me for anything.”

“Good, I like a late dinner.  I’ll meet you in the dining room around 8 and cook something for you.”

Elspeth resisted her immediate impulse, which was to ask, “Why?”  She happily accepted the invitation and left, her head buzzing with renewed excitement.  She practically skipped down the stairs to her room, where Lydia was stretched out on the bed, reading an expert level destruction book.  Elspeth laughed when she saw her, “How did you get in here?”

“Tolfdir saw me waiting in the courtyard and let me in.  He said he wants me to have a room here.  I think I am going to take him up on it.”  She paused and said carefully, “I know you can take care of yourself.  But with all this mysterious Psijic Order stuff going on, I feel better being here.”

“I’m not going to argue with that.”  Elspeth was thrilled at the thought of Lydia staying at the College.  “At the very least, you’ll keep Nirya from talking to me.  What did you say to her last night?”

“You know,” said Lydia, “it was so satisfying at the time but I’m really not proud of myself.  Had it been anyone but an Altmer from the College, I could have gotten into trouble.”  She sighed.  “I told her that Winterhold was still a Nord’s city and that as a housecarl from the court of Jarl Balgruuf, I could make sure that anything that happened outside the College would see her sent to The Chill.”

Elspeth’s eyes widened and she smirked at this.  She loved Lydia’s irreverent side.  “It’s really not like you to abuse your so-called  _authority_  like that.”

“Yes, well.  Let’s hope I’m not compelled to ever again.”  She sat up and put the book down.  “Are you working in the archive all day?”

“Maybe.  There aren’t any lectures or seminars today so I hadn’t given any thought to my schedule.”

“I’ve got some work from the Jarl.  He wants us to recover the Helm of Winterhold from the Wreck of the Pride of Tel Vos.”

“Is the wreck far?”  Elspeth asked as she changed from her robe into her armor, “I can’t be out for long.”

Lydia looked at her suspiciously.  “I thought you said didn’t have anything scheduled.”

“I don’t have work scheduled,” said Elspeth as she hiked her boots up and fastened them, “Onmund is cooking dinner for me.”

Lydia clapped her hands, “I knew he liked you,” she said excitedly.  “The wreck isn’t far at all.”  She paused and then asked, “So, did you flutter those eyelashes at him?  Or was it that adorable half-smile thing you do with your mouth?”  Lydia was genuinely curious to see how Elspeth handled flirting in her absence.

“I cured his hangover.  Then I punched him in the ribs.”

Lydia threw back her head and laughed, “Oh Elspeth, you are going to grow up to be a fine Nord one day.”

Outside, the weather was cold but it was clear and sunny, which made the trek to the shore easy.  The wreck was on a small island just east of Winterhold.  The Sea of Ghosts was one of the most treacherous seas on all of Nirn, but their journey would not take them far, not to the north or to the west where the sea was almost entirely covered with massive ice floes.  Instead, they had two relatively short swims, the second of which Elspeth found most unpleasant.  She didn’t mind being wet but the water was frigid and she was a Breton.  Luckily, her fire-salt treated cloak retained some of its warmth, even when soaked.

As they approached the island they saw the glow from a campfire.  They sidled along the edge of the wreck to get a closer look.  There appeared to be only two bandits.  The first was standing in plain sight, which made it easy for Lydia to take him out with a single arrow shot.  The second was more difficult.  He was incredibly fast and knew fire spells.  He wore destruction robes and Elspeth wondered afterward if he had perhaps studied at the college.  In the end, however, he was no match for both women.

The bandits had already done the work of clearing out at least some of the wreck and had loaded their chest up with gold, gems, ingots, silver candlesticks, and the Helm of Winterhold.  There was a fire and food and so Elspeth and Lydia were able to warm themselves and enjoy fresh caught fish for lunch.  The bandits also had a small skiff, which would make the return trip to the shore relatively easy.

“At least one of the Divines is smiling upon us today,” said Lydia as she finished her meal.  “Zenithar, I think.  Although, you’ve got Lady Mara at your back too it seems.”

In the end, they opted only to bring back only what they could hold in their pockets and satchels, which proved smart since they had no way to transport the chest from the shore back to Winterhold.  “Next time, we’ll bring a pack mule,” said Lydia.

“I didn’t think they had pack mules this far north,” said Elspeth.

“No, you’re right,” agreed Lydia.  “Although, I think there might be one in Riften.”

Back at the Jarl’s Longhouse, Korir was happy to have the Helm returned.  He ignored Elspeth’s association with the College long enough to share a bottle of mead with them.  When he bade them farewell, he promised Lydia work in a week or two.  At the Frozen Hearth Lydia gathered her things and promised a rather unhappy Eirid that she would be back to play cards with her soon.

It was getting late by the time they arrived at the Hall of Attainment, where Tolfdir was waiting for them.  “It’s nice to see that Skyrim still has some nice people, you give an old man hope!” he exclaimed as he gave Lydia her key and showed her to her room, which was just across the hall from Elspeth’s.

When Elspeth offered to help Lydia unpack and settle in, she just rolled her eyes.

“No!” she said, feigning harshness.  “I’m going to take a nap.  Then I am going to find Brelyna and Aine and borrow something to read.  Then I might go torment J’zargo a little.   Now, off with you.  Go make yourself look adorable.  I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow.”


	24. All the World is Football Shaped

“Other mages may claim to be as good as magic as J’zargo, but they cannot be as charming as he. Thus, J’zargo always comes out on top.”  He gestured toward Onmund, who was stirring something over the fire.  “That is why this one should listen to J’zargo.”

“J’zargo,” replied Onmund, his patience growing thin, “I am not adding moon sugar to my grandmother’s venison stew.”  And as J’zargo peered into the bubbling pot, Onmund moved to nudge him out of the way.  “Go away.  I don’t want you shedding in it either.”

“Leave Onmund alone,” said Brelyna.  “He doesn’t need your advice or your moon sugar.”

“Need we remind you that Onmund is the one dining with a woman tonight,” teased Aine.  “J’zargo is playing cards with Aine and Brelyna.  Again.”

“J’zargo wonders if Lydia likes fondue.” He said, ignoring his friend’s ribbing.

“You should go ask her,” came a voice from behind.  It was Elspeth.  “She’s downstairs in her room.” Aine and Brelyna’s eyes brightened at this news.  J’zargo was also delighted to hear this, although he tried not to show it.  “She’s sleeping now, but she will be looking for you guys later.”

“Good!” said Aine as she Brelyna gathered up their things to leave.  “Come on J’zargo, let’s go.”  J’zargo cocked his head to say something but before he could open his mouth, Aine said sternly, “Now.”  J’zargo furrowed his brow but relented and followed the women, leaving Elspeth and Onmund alone.

The Hall of Attainment’s dining area was not exactly the most romantic eating establishment in Skyrim, but with most of the students done for the evening, it was quiet.  Onmund had set a small table in the corner, where he sat Elspeth down and poured some Honinngbrew mead.  “I buy this whenever Dagur has it,” he said.

“It reminds me of Whiterun,” said Elspeth as she took a sip.  Onmund smiled and walked back toward the cooking area.  He brought back two large bowls of stew and set them down.

“This is my grandmother’s recipe.  There is not a better venison stew in all of Falkreath hold,” he said as he sat down across from her.

Elspeth laid her napkin in her lap.  “Is that where you’re from?”  She was less nervous now, her earlier anxieties assuaged by food and drink.

“I was born and raised there,” he replied.

“Is it hard being so far from your family?” asked Elspeth.

“Not at all,” he said.  “I consider it a blessing. My family was convinced coming here was a death sentence, or worse.  It took years of insisting that this is what I’m meant to do.”  He paused and drank some of his mead.  “I write to them once a year to let them know I’m alive, but I haven’t seen them since my grandma died.  And they made it pretty clear I really wasn’t welcome there anymore.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Elspeth quietly.

“Don’t be,” he said.  “I’m not.”

“So, there is nothing you miss from home then?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” he replied.  “At Dead Man’s drink in Falkreath City, Valga Vinicia used to make the most amazing open face lamb’s tongue sandwich—”

Elspeth swallowed her stew and furrowed her brow.  “Is that a food or an illicit sex act?”

Onmund laughed and continued, “—which I can’t get Haran to make for me at the Frozen Hearth.”

“Well of course not! She’s not that kind of woman.  And, she’s married.”  Elspeth shook her head in mock-disapproval, which made Onmund laugh even harder.

“I do wonder about my sister’s little girl.  She’s about five now.  I would have liked to have known her.”  Onmund paused and took a sip of his mead.  “What about your family?” he asked.

For over ten years, Elspeth had kept the secret of her identity with little discomfort.  Xeri had established the story so seamlessly in Bruma that even keeping it from Andil was easy.  Arriving in Skyrim had brought weight to the lie but not until that moment had it felt even remotely unbearable.  Onmund wasn’t making small talk; he was genuinely curious about where she came from.  And his face betrayed a kind and trustworthy man, one to whom Elspeth want to reveal all her secrets.  Not only that, she believed that Onmund would have loved Frostcraig Village—with the atronach guardians around the perimeter and dremora guarding the entrances to various rooms in the Spire.  When she was a little girl, there were mages everywhere and they all loved teaching her spells and enchantments.

One day, when it was not quite so dangerous, she would tell him the truth.  But for now she took a deep breath and began her story—and for the first time, the truth pounded in the back of her mind as if begging to be released.  “My parents were refugees who fled Cyrodill for the camps in Morrowind at the end of the war.”  _If by refugees you mean exiled champions and by camps you mean an unincorporated village property in the Jerall moutains that has been in my family since the Oblivion Crisis._ “I lost my parents when I was ten and that’s when Runa and Xeri, two other refugees, brought me to Bruma to study and train.”   _My father died and my mother let his housecarl take me to Bruma to prepare me to fulfill some bizarre vision (the likes of which she never could or never would explain) that she had the night I was born.”  “_ Xeri was my mentor—she trained me to fight.  She descends from a long line of wise women and warriors from Morrowind.”   _That’s actually true._ “She pushed me very hard and was sort of….” Elspeth paused for a moment.

“Strict?”

“Well, I was going to say insane, but that works.”  Elspeth grinned, feeling relieved to be moving to the truthful parts of the story.  “Runa is a Nord and Lydia’s aunt.  If not for me she might have returned to Skyrim, but she stayed because she was terrified of what would happen if she’d left me to be raised by Xeri alone.  She was the nurturing one.”  She drank some more mead.  “I guess Lydia is my family now.”  She ate a few more bites of her food and then asked, “Was it strange at first?  To be with all these elves and mages?”

“Oh my gods, yes.”  Onmund shook his head.  “In my family you get up with the sun and go down with the sun.  I could not believe the hours that mages kept.  At first I thought it was an elven thing—but then I would see Tolfdir wandering the halls in the middle of the night.  And when he has favor to ask of me, it’s usually around 3AM.”

“Really?”  Elspeth laughed.  “What do you say to him?”

“For Tolfdir?  I can’t say no to him; he helped me adjust and has taught me a lot.”  Onmund sat back and grinned.  “Brelyna and J’zargo and I were all in the same cohort.  And we were so eager and so very green when we arrived.  We must have driven him crazy.  But he endured us with patience.  Even J’zargo.  I think Tolfdir is the only instructor who hasn’t thrown him out of seminar at least once.”

“What are the other instructors like here?”

“Very smart, very talented.  Not all of them are great at teaching.  Collette is probably the best teacher we have and no one takes her seriously.”

“Because she teaches restoration?”

“I think that’s part of it, but I think it’s also her,” explained Onmund.  “I think if Phinis or Faralda taught restoration, they would get a bit more respect, which is unfortunate.”

“What about Enthir?  I keep hearing about him as the guy who can get things.  But I don’t really understand what he does.”

“No,” said Onmund.  “That’s about all he does.”  Onmund’s face darkened and he looked down.

“Is something wrong?”  Onmund started to shake his head but she raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that was both knowing and inquisitive; it was a look she’d relied on her whole life and one that made it difficult for people to keep things from her.  “I may have entered an agreement with Enthir.  He had something I needed and so I traded something of mine.  It was a mistake and now I regret it.”

Elspeth frowned sympathetically.  “What was it?”

He sighed.  “It was an amulet and it belonged to my family.”  He looked really sad.

“Can’t you get it back?” asked Elspeth.

“Enthir doesn’t go back on trades,” explained Onmund.  “I need to get enough coin to buy it from him before he sells it or trades it away.  And that’s assuming he’ll sell it back to me.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Elspeth.

Onmund looked up.  “No,” he exclaimed, realizing that he casting a pall over their evening.  “It’s really not a big deal.”   He smiled at her and asked, “Have you been up to the roof yet?”  Elspeth shook her head and Onmund started cleaning, suddenly very excited.  When he was finished, he took her hand and let her up the stairs.  “I hope it’s still clear out.”

He opened the door at the top of the stairs.  From outside they could hear laughter and Lydia shouting, “You’re out of your element J’zargo” and then the sound of wet snow pummeling fur.   Lydia and Aine were just outside the door and when they saw Elspeth and Onmund waiting, they nodded and gestured for them to go in the opposite direction while they left to keep J’zargo occupied.

The weather was still clear and when Elspeth stepped out she looked up and saw the Northern Lights, vertical streaks of green and orange light spanning the night sky.  She gasped when she saw them and squeezed Onmund’s hand.  “Runa told me all about them, but this is the first time I’ve seen the lights.”

“My mother called them Kyne’s lights and said that they are messages from the goddess herself, but my grandma said they come from the planes of Aetherius and written on them are the secrets of magic the gods are ready to share with the races on Nirn.”  He led her to an area enclosed by benches.

“It seems your grandma was a little more supportive of your interest in magic,” said Elspeth as she sat down.

“Yes, she was a bit more encouraging.  She brought me to the temple in Falkreath and introduced me to Runil, who taught me my first spells,” he replied.  “But she was still a Nord woman.  She wanted me to take over my grandfather’s forge when he died and wasn’t happy when I came here and like the rest of the family, made her feelings quite clear.”

When he looked away, Elspeth wondered if amulet he spoke of earlier belonged to his grandmother.  She thought he was upset again, but he put his arm around her and smiled as he pulled her close.  They looked back toward their friends and saw them heading down to the Hall of Attainment.  Lydia was last to leave and she paused and waved them good night with an exaggerated gesture and a grin intended to indicate her wholehearted approval. Elspeth laughed and when she turned back to Onmund, he leaned in and kissed her.  And just as she had imagined, his jaw was strong but his lips and tongue were soft.  They kissed for a long time and when they stopped, Onmund took her hands in his and pressed his forehead to hers.  Elspeth took a deep breath.  She didn’t want to let go.  Ever.  They sat there quietly, each taking a few more quick kisses until Elspeth started shivering.  He pulled her hands into the folds of his robe and suggested going back inside.

They walked back down to Onmund’s room, laughing about how Elspeth’s acquired Nord tendencies did not extend to temperature resistance.  “I’ll never understand why I can create fire in my hands, but I can’t warm the rest of my body,” she said.  “We could have stayed on the roof all night!”

“I didn’t want to stay up there all night,” he protested.  “It’s getting cold.”

“I thought Nords loved the cold, standing in the cold, sitting in the cold, drinking in the cold….”

“Only good Nords,” he replied as they turned on to his floor, where Tolfdir was wandering around with a stack of books and papers in his arms.  Onmund cringed and tried to turn them around.  But it was too late. Tolfdir had seen them.

“There you are, my boy,” he called out.  “I was wondering if you could help me prepare the morning seminar on Ironflesh aspects.  It’s going to be quite a lesson.  Oh, hello Elspeth.”

Elspeth greeted Tolfdir before turning her face away, desperately trying not to laugh.

“I was just going to walk Elspeth downstairs,” explained Onmund, also trying to hide his reluctant amusement at Tolfdir’s impeccable timing.

“Did she hurt her knee?” asked Tolfdir, as if there were no other reason to walk someone to her room.

“Ah…no” Onmund stammered, not exactly sure what to say next.

“I have to give him a book,” said Elspeth as she turned him around.  “Good night Tolfdir.  Don’t worry, he’ll be right back.”

When they were out of earshot, Elspeth burst into a fit of laughter.  At her door, Onmund tried to apologize but she wouldn’t let him.  “Thank you for dinner,” she said, taking his hands and pulling him close.

“You’re welcome,” he said, before leaning in and kissing her again.  “I will find you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said.   “Shouldn’t I give you a book?”

Onmund shook his head as he walked away.  “He won’t even notice.”

When he was gone, Elspeth rolled her head back against the doorway and walked over to the washroom, where she turned on the tap and splashed frigid water on her face.  She was restless and not even remotely tired.  She thought back over the evening, which made her smile until she recalled the amulet.  She surmised that trading the amulet hurt far more than he let on and as she dried her face, she decided to see exactly what kind of hours these mages kept.


	25. Lend me your Ear

Elspeth found Enthir, the Bosmer sorcerer and trader, wandering around the second floor of the Hall of Countenance and she approached him warily.  Like most Bosmer, there was nothing physically intimidating about him but he dealt in rare and unusual items and ingredients—black market things—and she had little experience with people like him.

“Oh look, it’s the destruction magic genius,” he said with his tone a mix of sarcasm and admiration.  “What can I do for you?”

“I heard you are the mage who can get things,” she said.

He looked around carefully.  “Let’s go talk in my room.”  When Elspeth looked at him suspiciously, he sneered.  “I won’t bite you.  I do all my business there.”  He looked her over.   “Besides, you could kill me where I stand.”

When they arrived Elspeth looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “I believe you have something of Onmund’s.  I want to get it back.”

“Oh how precious,” said Enthir mockingly, “Onmund is too afraid to deal with me himself and so he sent you.”

“He’s not afraid of you,” Elspeth protested, “and he didn’t send me.”

“So, you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?  Again, I say  _precious_.”  He shook his head and continued.  “Look, I’ll make this simple for you.  All my trades are final.  Onmund knew this ahead of time, and went through with it anyway.”  He paused and smirked.  “So, there is nothing more to be said.”

Elspeth wasn’t stupid.  There was always something more to be said.  So, she crossed her arms and tried to be persuasive.  “I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you return the amulet.”  As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it wouldn’t work.  Her ability to be persuasive seemed so random these days.

“Yes, you see, the thing is…I’m not concerned with  _everyone’s best interest_. I find I’m only concerned with my own.”

He sounded so smug and self-satisfied that Elspeth didn’t believe him and with this, she became determined to wear him down.  “There must be something I can do.”  Her tone was matter-of-fact.  She wasn’t pleading with him, not yet anyway.  She knew there had to be something he needed.  Or wanted.

“Look how persistent you are.  It’s charming, really.”  He grinned.  “Onmund gave up the first time I said no, but not you….”  He paused for a moment and let his voice trail somewhat.  “All right.  I’ll tell you a little story.”  He cleared his throat.  “Let’s pretend for a moment that a certain individual was looking to acquire a particular staff.  Let’s also pretend that he traded some valuable items for said staff.  And it was only later that it was realized that this individual might…misuse such a staff.  The resulting disaster would reflect quite poorly on everyone involved.  Are you following me?”

“No, not really.”  Elspeth was quite confused.  “What is your point?”

“You’re not very good at this are you,” he said, again with the mocking.  “Look, I traded a staff to someone and found out later that was a bad idea.  So, I’d like the staff back.  Understand now?”

Elspeth raised her eyebrows and scoffed.  “You won’t let Onmund out of his trade, but you want out of yours?”

“I did not have the advantage of knowing this particular individual’s character.  Onmund can claim no such ignorance,” Enthir replied, scowling.

“Fine,” she said.  “I’ll get the staff for you.”

“Well look at that, we have agreement.  The individual you are looking for is an Altmer named Tanvir and he took the staff up to Skytemple ruins, just north of here.  Don’t underestimate him.  He’s a very powerful destruction wizard.  He’ll be a challenge.  Even for you genius.”  He raised his eyebrows to gesture for her to leave.  “Until next time.”

Elspeth walked back to her room and collapsed on her bed.  She woke up after only a couple of hours.  It was early still, but she couldn’t get back to sleep.  After about an hour of going through the motions of reading a book but not actually absorbing any information, she put her armor on, packed her satchel, and left.  She found Lydia sleeping soundly in her room and she knelt down and shook her lightly.  “Lydia,” she said, “wake up.”

Lydia groaned and rolled over.  She squinted at Elspeth and then looked over at the clock.  “What are you doing here?  Why aren’t all draped over Onmund?”

“You’re funny.” said Elspeth.  “I need to go to Skytemple Ruins to get something for Enthir.  I’ll explain on the way.”

As a fellow Nord, Lydia was sympathetic to Onmund’s plight.  Her father’s shield, which hung in the upstairs hallway in Breezehome, was the only thing she had of his.  It was beautiful and powerful—forged by his friend Eorlund Grey Mane and enchanted by the High King’s court wizard in Solitude.  His captain recovered it after it was thought to be lost in the battle that had cost him his life.  It was so special she couldn’t bring herself to use it, lest it go missing again.  “You know,” Lydia said as they left the College.  “Lydia is a nice name for a baby girl.  And you’re gonna owe me after this.”

The ruins were located on a large glacial mound, which was easily accessible by stepping along the path of ice floes from the shore.  Finding a straightforward path upward proved to be a little more difficult, however.  They got caught in a storm and about halfway up the icy trail, visibility was reduced to almost nothing.  At the top of the mound they found the sheltered entrance to the ruins, where they were able to rest a moment before going inside.

The ruin itself was little more than a small room with a single sarcophagus and a chest.  Elspeth’s heart sank a bit as she realized that Tanvir was nowhere inside.  “He could still be somewhere on the glacier,” suggested Lydia.  “There are more surface ruins outside.

Indeed, as they exited the ruin and looked ahead, they saw the outline of a man in robes in the distance standing near what looked like an altar.  The storm gave them cover as they sneaked around the perimeter of the top of the mound.  Elspeth approached him carefully but he attacked as soon as he saw them, first turning the staff on both of them.  Elspeth was able to repel it but Lydia had no wards and it hit her directly.   She stumbled back and looked up.  “Everything is so pretty,” she said dreamily.  It was a charm spell and Elspeth had no idea how powerful it was or how long it would put Lydia out of commission although it must have been pretty strong to affect her at all.

“Get back!” she yelled as she pushed the now staggering and dazed Lydia to safety.  She charged at the wizard.   Enthir has not been exaggerating about his power.  Why he bothered using a charm spell was a mystery.  When he turned his lightening spells on her, Elspeth couldn’t recall the last time she had seen such powerful destruction magic coming at her and most of her magicka was used up trying to maintain a greater ward strong enough to deflect it.  She had a very, very small window of opportunity when his magicka was drained.  She dodged another shot from the staff and with what little magicka she had left, tossed a small fireball, knocking a potion out of his hand, and lunged forward, just barely getting close enough to cut him in the gut.  He dropped the staff before twitching a couple of times and then he was still.  Assuming him to be dead, Elspeth turned around quickly to see where the staff had fallen.

She was steadying herself along an icy ledge behind the altar and as she grasped the staff, she felt a strong and incredibly painful lightning spell hit her back, right below the place where her arm met her shoulder, right where her armor was a bit soft so that she could move around.  It hit her hard enough to cause her to stumble and slide down the edge of the glacial mound, and she barely managed to grab a small slab of ice jutting out over the edge.  She pulled up with her all her strength but she just dangled there.  With one hand on the protruding ice and the staff in her other, she couldn’t cast so she just had to wait to heal, thanking the gods she didn’t have to hold on with the arm that had just been injured and praying that the staff had enough charge to work on Tanvir.

She looked up and saw Tanvir looking over, holding his gut where she cut him.  She gulped and aimed the staff at him.  He easily dodged the spell, but as he raised his hand to cast a spell that would have sent her tumbling down the side of the mound, leaving her wedged in the ice below, Lydia leaped from behind, knocking him down and finishing him off with her axe.  “HANG ON!” she screamed.  “JUST…HANG ON!”  She slid herself down as close as she could and lowered her axe.  “SWING YOUR ARM OVER AND GRAB THE BLADE.”

“I can’t!” she called back.  “I can’t drop the staff.”

“YOU HAVE TO DROP THE STAFF!!!”

Elspeth looked down; there would be no recovering the staff if she dropped it.  It would be jammed in the ice.  She looked up again.  Lydia was still screaming at her to grab the axe.  The pain in her back meant that she had one good swing left.  Maybe.  So, she stuck the top of the staff into her boot and grasped it between her legs—this would make crawling back over the edge difficult but it was worth a try.  Then she swung her arm up and grabbed the blade; the pain from the spell was unbelievable but she stretched and shrieked and squeezed.   Lydia pulled her to safety and after they tumbled back to the safer side of the edge, she clutched her into a full body embrace, crushing her shoulder.  Elspeth cried and howled in pain but Lydia just held her tighter.  “Gods,” she cried, “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” said Elspeth weakly, “You’re really hurting my shoulder.”

“I don’t care!” she said but after a few moments she released her.   Elspeth healed herself as best she could but knew the pain in her shoulder would linger for a while.  She suddenly felt incredibly stupid and rolled over and pushed her face into the snow.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I should have made sure he was dead.  I should have dropped the staff….” Her voice trailed off but she looked up at Lydia again.  “I am so sorry.”

Lydia couldn’t stop shaking.  They had both become a little overconfident in their abilities to fight together and perhaps this was a good lesson for the two of them.  She took a deep breath and smiled weakly.  “Just don’t do that again.”  She stood up and brushed herself off and after helping Elspeth to her feet looked at her intently and said, “I would have had to tell Xeri that you died chasing Nord plonker!”  She pursed her lips.  “She would have yelled at me!  Because I am NOT supposed to let you die that way.  It isn’t honorable.  I don’t care what Idolaf says.”

Elspeth looked at her and burst out laughing.  “Runa would have been proud though.”

“You’re going to have to name all the babies Lydia now.  Even the boys.”

They walked slowly and steadily down the mound taking care to avoid horkers and other creatures on the way home while Lydia chattered on about magic Nord-Breton babies.  Elspeth humored her friend, thinking about how excited she was to give Onmund his amulet back when she stopped and exclaimed, “Oh my gods!”  She looked down at the staff and then back at Lydia.  “Am I really just chasing Nord….”  She clapped her hand over her mouth, now suddenly distressed.

“What?”  Lydia would have laughed but when she saw the look of concern on Elspeth’s face, she stifled her giggles and put her arm around her.  “I wouldn’t let you do that.”  She paused.  “Well, yes I would but I wouldn’t let you take on a storm wizard for it.”  She hugged her and smiled reassuringly.

When they arrived back at the College, Lydia went to change and Elspeth went immediately to Enthir’s door, where she knocked somewhat impatiently.  After a few moments she heard, “Who is it?”  He sounded irritated.

“It’s Elspeth.  Enthir, I have your staff,” she pressed her forehead against the door.

“Just a minute,” he called out.  She heard shuffling and a crash and then shushing.  When he opened the door, his hair was disheveled and his robe seemed somehow…crooked.  “Come in,” he said.

“I could stay out here,” she offered.  She suddenly felt extremely awkward around him.

“No!” he insisted.  He leaned in and said quietly, “I never do business in the open hallway.  Come in!”  She walked in and handed him the staff, which he inspected carefully.  “Good,” he said as he looked things over.  “And you seem more or less unscathed.”  He stopped and cocked his head, as if he were curious about something but not quite certain how to ask.

“Enthir….”  He patience was spent.

“Okay,” he said.  He opened a chest and from a small silk bag he removed the amulet, which he handed to her.  She put it in her pocket and turned to leave.

“You really like him, don’t you?”  His tone had changed.  It softened and seemed almost friendly although at this point, Elspeth was too weary and sore to care.  She simply nodded, desperate to leave his room.  As she grabbed the door handle, she heard a noise come from one of his closets, a scratching and then a thud.  She eyed the door suspiciously and then looked back at Enthir.  He didn’t appear embarrassed or even impatient; he just had a sort of crooked, knowing smile.

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, it’s good to know some things are the same everywhere,” she said, recalling the strange culture of secrecy over such matters that had pervaded Arcane University.  Her curiosity was piqued, but as far as she was concerned, as long as it wasn’t Onmund in there, she didn’t care.  She turned and left the Hall of Countenance as quickly as she could.


	26. Falling Is Like This

After bathing and changing her clothes, Elspeth went back to her room to sit for a moment and collect her thoughts.  She took the amulet from her pocket and examined it.  Apart from its sentimental value, it was very beautiful.  It was a brushed silver circle engraved with a Nord knot pattern and held a dark sapphire.  Her hands trembled as she held it—she had been so excited to give it to him and now she was terrified.  After the purge she hadn’t given much thought to men.  She went back to Bruma, enacted a minor rebellion, fought with Xeri, and was consoled by Runa.  Then Xeri threw her back into training, isolating her in the mountains for months on end.  The trauma of the purge was replaced with—or rather, accompanied by—renewed physical strength and vigor.

In all that time, however, the pain of losing Andil’s affection and friendship wasn’t touched.  It was assumed she would mourn his death but nothing was ever said about the pain he caused before he died.  As a result she simply let herself believe that her increased physical strength had also endowed her with the ability to control her heart.  Yet, here she was, feeling vulnerable.  She swallowed hard.  Recovering the amulet was more than a gesture of friendship; she knew that returning it would inevitably involve giving something of herself to him as well.  This scared her so much that she briefly considered asking Brelyna to return it for her.  But when she realized how ludicrous such a request would sound—and that he would come find her anyway—she took a deep breath and went up to his room.

She found him reading on his bed and when he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, he smiled and looked a little relieved.  “You’re here.  I didn’t think you would be back for a while.”

“Why would you think that?” she asked.

“I asked Tolfdir if he’d seen you and Enthir overheard and said you went to Riften and would be back, maybe in three weeks.  I wasn’t sure if I believed him but no one knew where you were.”

Elspeth pursed her lips and shook her head in annoyance. “Oh for the love of Talos!  He knew exactly where I was.”  She closed the door and walked over to the bed where Onmund had made room for her to sit.

“How did he know where you were?” he asked as he leaned over for a kiss.

“He sent me on an errand,” she explained as she took the amulet from her pocket.  She turned over his hand, which he had rested on her leg, and placed the amulet there.

“My amulet! I didn’t think I would see it again.”  Later Elspeth would tell Lydia that she wished she could take back that moment and give him the amulet again, just to see the look on his face.  In his life, Onmund had experienced few acts of kindness and now his heart swelled for the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.  He paused to catch his breath and ran his thumb around the knot pattern.  “My grandfather forged this and gave it to my grandmother on their wedding night.  When she died, my mother was reluctant to give it to me.  But she did anyway.”  He paused and looked back up at her.  “I don’t…I know they always disapproved of what I wanted in life, to learn magic instead taking over the forge or even becoming a farmer or a hunter.  But no matter how poorly they may have treated me, they’re still my family.  I didn’t consider that until after I’d made the trade.”

He placed the amulet in a small box on his bedside table.  When he turned back, he put his arms around her.  “Thank you,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear softly before pressing his lips to her mouth for a long kiss.  She put her hands up and cupped his face—running her fingers along his cheekbones, the first thing she ever noticed about him, the first part she ever wanted to touch.  Elspeth could feel her heart racing as she as she undid the strings on his hood.  After tossing it on the ground, and with trembling lips, she dropped her mouth down, gently biting his bottom lip and nibbling his jaw, his ear, his neck.

With each nip, he grew a little more assertive, a strong hand rubbing her back and the other tracing the curves of her breasts and hips through her robe.  But when he grasped just below the shoulder blade—the sensitive area where the storm wizard had injured her—she yelped and pulled away, startling him.  “What’s wrong?” he asked nervously.

Elspeth took a deep breath and swallowed as her shoulder throbbed.  “I’m okay,” she reassured him although by the look on his face, he wasn’t convinced.  “Lydia and I met a storm wizard earlier and I got nailed with a rather powerful lightening spell—and you know, when they don’t kill you, they tend to linger.”  She took this opportunity to kick off her boots and pull her legs up on to the bed.

Onmund still looked doubtful and when his eyes wandered over to the box where he had put his amulet, doubt turned guilt.  “Oh Elspeth I’m so—“

But she wouldn’t hear it.  She interrupted his apology with another long, lingering kiss and then leaned back on the bed, bringing him with her.  He grinned and kissed her neck, trailing his lips across her collarbone.  She sighed and rolled her head back while he slowly undid the strings on her robe and slid his hands under the fabric, gasping as he touched the skin underneath.  Elspeth leaned up on her elbows, letting the robe slip off her shoulders and kicking her legs out.

Onmund looked her over as she stretched back.  “Oh gods,” he whispered, “look at you.”  Elspeth’s heart leapt and she rolled over and tugged at the sash on his robe and then watched as he quickly kneed up on the bed and undressed.

His robe hit the floor with a thud, but she barely noticed as she was staring at him, wide-eyed and astonished.  Having lived in the communal quarters of Arcane for several years, Elspeth had seen more than her fair share of mages without their robes on.  In her experience, they tended to be thin with soft bellies and sloped shoulders.  Even the strong ones, like the battlemages and spellswords, were wiry and sort of gangling.  Not Onmund.  He was lean, but his stomach was carved and his arms and legs were strong—very strong.  Elspeth wanted to grope every muscle, from his calves all the way up to where the top of his back met his neck.

She pulled herself down toward him as he kneeled over her, holding himself up with his hands.  Until this moment, she had been able to ignore how nervous she was.  But when she looked up and she saw that that the playfulness in his eyes had given way to longing, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.  This longing was not only for her body; it was for something more.  There wasn’t a single part of her didn’t want and he wasn’t holding back.  And in that instant, she felt the burden of all her fears—what it would mean to give every part of herself over to someone again.  But she also felt, deep in her heart, the chance to let them go.  And as much as it terrified her, she wouldn’t resist.  In fact, she couldn’t.

She ran her hands up along his arms, pulling him down gently on top of her, curious fingers exploring the muscles on his back and chest.  He kissed her, more aggressively this time, and then let his eager mouth and hands wander, biting and massaging her skin.  He moved lower, running his tongue along her breasts and stopping to nuzzle the soft skin at the top of her belly.  He stopped there to listen to her breathe as waves of excitement and nervousness washed over him.  He had never wanted anyone or anything so much, and yet, if given the chance, he could lie there forever, feeling her chest rise and fall against his cheek.  Elspeth let out a light sigh and hooked her legs around his, gently nudging him up with the inside of her calf.

When he lifted his head to hers, she tugged at his loincloth, her hands shaking with nervous excitement.  As she slid the cloth down his leg with her foot, he touched the inside of her underclothes gingerly and slipped his hand in, removing them as she arched her back and let out a soft moan.  Then, kneeling between her legs, he gently pushed her thighs open, and eased into her carefully, letting out a quiet groan when their bodies met.  She was warm and tight and perfect.  He moved slowly at first, stepping up his thrusts with hers and then, when they were in near perfect rhythm, he moved faster, driving himself deep into her—listening to her sweet cries of pleasure grow louder.

With every thrust, her body swelled with ecstasy—vibrating through her spine and along every nerve right through the tips of her fingers and toes.  Elspeth had never before been able to let go, not completely, not like this.  Every time that she’d lain with Andil, she had been distracted, always keeping an ear to the door, praying to Mara that no one would catch them.  He had tried so hard to help put her ease but it never worked—such were the fears of someone who had never, in her whole life, had anything private.

Now she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to float as all her tension, all her fear, all her grief was carried away and in their place there was only bliss.  When he brought her to climax, her entire body quivered and she hooked his waist with her legs, bringing him down and letting him crush her as she stifled shrieks of pleasure into the curve of his neck.

While she caught her breath, Onmund arched his back and clutched her hand as he let himself go—his body stiffening and then shuddering.  He stayed there for several moments, breathing deeply as he trembled above her.  And when he pulled out of her, instead of smothering her with kisses as she was anticipating, he leaned back on his ankles and placed his head on her belly, tracing the curves of her hips, waist, and the tops of her thighs with his fingers.  It was as if he knew she needed a moment to breathe and with this single act—a gesture that seemed so insignificant compared to everything they’d just done together—her heart was gone.  She was overwhelmed and though she tried, she couldn’t hold back the tears that filled her eyes.

He sidled up beside her, but when he saw the tears, his face fell.  “Did I hurt you?” he stammered.

“No,” she said, her voice trembling, “not at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?” he reached up and wiped the tears from her face before pulling his blanket up.  He sounded worried.

She smiled warmly at him, “I’m okay.  It’s just a lot—” She paused.  “Onmund, you were wonderful.”  She kissed him softly before burrowing down into the blanket and nuzzling his chest.  “Besides,” she said.  “I’m a Breton, we cry over a nice aged cheese.”

“Mara be praised,” he laughed quietly.  “I’m a little new at this,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Really?”  Elspeth was surprised.   From the stories Lydia told—most of which involved a bedroll in the grain mill at Battle-Born farm—sexual experimentation seemed like a rite of passage for adolescent Nords, for both young men and women.

“Yes, well my interest in magic didn’t really appeal to the Nord girls I grew up with,” he explained.  “And when I got here, I felt like I was behind all the more naturally talented elves and with J’zargo making everything a competition, I was a little obsessed with studying and casting.  I didn’t do much of anything else.”

“I see.”  She nestled into his arms; the pain in her shoulder had subsided but the exhaustion from the day’s adventure was now catching up to her.  She dozed off, slipping in and out of sleep, while Onmund traced knot patterns on the back of her neck and shoulders with his fingers.  Watching her sleep gave him a sense of peace with the world and he wondered how J’zargo had made something so pleasant seem so odd in his stories.

He touched her face and when her eyes fluttered open he asked, “How did you get this?”  He was referring to the scar on her jaw.  It was barely noticeable, unless you were looking closely.

“This?”  Elspeth’s hand touched her cheek.  She had never shared that story with anyone although she supposed Lydia had heard about it from Runa.  “It’s from a fight I had back in Bruma.”  She paused and took a deep breath.  “With Xeri.”

“Your mentor?”  Onmund was confused.  “What happened?”

“I threw an alembic and it hit her in the head.  And then she…reacted to that.”  Elspeth saw the look of astonishment on his face and realized that she would not be able to depend on the short versions of her life stories with him.  “After the incident at Arcane—” She turned abruptly on her side and looked intently at him.  “What the Thalmor did was an act of terror.  It should have nullified the Concordat and Mede should have declared war on the Thalmor.  We were all waiting for it and when he didn’t and then accepted the Thalmor investigation of the incident, I sort of lost it.”  She stopped talking to catch her breath.  “We all did.”

He simply nodded.  He remembered when the news of Arcane had reached the College and when the report was issued.  Savos and most of the faculty denounced it, although never officially.  He was no stranger to stories of Thalmor treachery, but until now that particular incident had seemed very distant and almost too big to comprehend.

“I was so angry and sad.  I spent a lot of time at the taverns, screaming about injustice.  Runa told Xeri to be patient with me.  Then I moved my ranting from the taverns to the statue of Tiber Septim.  The whole town heard it and the countess had the guards bring me in.”

“You were arrested?”  His eyes grew wider and wider as each detail was revealed.

“No,” she explained.  “I just sat in the steward’s office until Xeri came.  She brought me home and yelled at me.  When she said it was time to resume training, I said I was done with her and was leaving to find the dissident elves or someone else to help me fight the Thalmor.”  Elspeth stuttered over these last details.  Onmund assumed it was simply the difficulty of telling the story, but Elspeth was struggling to be as honest as possible without giving her relationship to the dissidents away.

“I had never defied her like that before.  She said something awful…I don’t even remember what…and I threw my alembic and it hit her in the back of the head.   She cast a paralysis spell on me and tackled me to the ground, holding her dagger to my jaw and screaming about how terrible I was.  She was so angry.  I don’t think she realized how deep she pushed the blade.  Runa found us like this and she kicked Xeri off me.”

This stunned Onmund silent.  Elspeth was a battle mage; she’d been hurt before and would be again.  But the thought of her being hurt by someone she trusted filled him with rage—and then helplessness.  She flinched as she watched the gentleness in his face give way to anger and frustration.  She shook her head and touched his cheek, running her fingers along his face until some of its softness returned.

“I planned to leave that night, but Runa talked me down,” she continued.  “Xeri was harsh and relentless, but she had never done anything like that before.  And she never did again.  We went back to the mountains to train, which actually helped.  Then I came here to find out what happened to this Altmer woman.”  Elspeth sighed.  “It’s not quite the quest I hoped for, but it’s something.  And it got me out of Cyrodill, which I think I needed more than anything.” She stretched out and looked at him intently, “I’m sorry I can’t really say a lot about that right now.”

Onmund smiled warmly and moved the strands of hair that had fallen in her face.  “That’s fine.  Everyone has their secrets.”

Secrets, she thought.  Hers were becoming the bane of her existence.  She rolled onto his chest and put her head down while he played with her hair.  She was thinking about the difficulty of being completely open with someone with incomplete stories when she thought of something that she needed him to know.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Who is Enthir sleeping with?”

“What?” Onmund was perplexed by this sudden shift to College gossip, something he had little interest in.  However, for Elspeth he was happy to oblige.  “This week?  Nirya, I think.  Brelyna tells me these things and as soon as she does, I try to forget.  Why do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t,” she said.  “But someone was hiding in the closet when I got your amulet back—”  This caused him to interrupt her with a fit of laughter.

Elspeth just smiled until he settled down.  “Anyway,” she continued, “it sounds like people know, but it just occurred to me that someone else in similar circumstances might have given me the amulet to keep my mouth shut.”  She stopped and considered her next statement carefully.  “If given the choice, I think I would have chosen the storm wizard.”

“But why?”

“I don’t want to be someone who trades in secrets or collects them for leverage,” she said thoughtfully.  “The only confidences I want to keep are ones that are entrusted to me, to protect someone’s privacy or to keep people safe.”

“Okay,” he said.   He kissed her before she put her head back down on his chest.  That Elspeth was an intense woman didn’t surprise or unsettle him.  As she talked, he just felt close to her, which was rather nice.

After a few moments she looked up again.  “So. Enthir and Nirya.”

Onmund wrinkled his brow, “I wonder if she’ll be less cranky now.”

“I doubt it.  Would you be less cranky if YOU were sleeping with Enthir?”

“Elspeth, I adore you.  But if you put that thought into my head ever again, I will walk out of this College and never return.”  He scowled playfully.  “And you will have to live with the fact that you sent me back to beg forgiveness from my parents and committed me to a life of hunting.”

“Hunting is an honorable vocation,” protested Elspeth.

“It is when you can hunt.  I can’t.”  He shook his head and sighed.  “I’ll be married off to a large Nord woman.  She won’t be cute like you but she’ll have great child bearing hips and we’ll have seven children and of course, I won’t be able to feed any of them because the only thing I can bring back from the day’s hunt is half-singed bunny rabbit.”  He gripped her tighter as she giggled and buried her face in his chest.  “Now see what you’ve done; my poor children are going to starve.  I hope you’re happy.”

Elspeth smiled and lay quietly, running her fingers along his chest and listening to his heartbeat.  “I am,” she whispered.


	27. Such Devotion from a Little Gnome

_Now all you fishermen bold,_  
If you live till you grow old,  
Do you open the pane and pop out the flame  
Just to see how the wind do blows.

Elspeth could hear the song echo throughout the hallway of the Hall of Attainment and all she could do was laugh.  Lydia had been up for 48 hours straight trying to perfect Candlelight and had started singing in the last couple of hours, punctuating the penultimate line of each verse with the snap of the spell.   Thanks to Collette and Tolfdir, Lydia’s confidence had been restored and she was perhaps the College’s most enthusiastic student.  Collette was, just as Onmund had indicated, an excellent instructor.  Where it had taken Farengar eight hours to teach Lydia a healing spell, it had taken Collette a half an hour to each a lesser ward, arguably the more complicated of the two spells.

The days and weeks were starting to blur together.  After the excitement of Sarthaal, life at the College went back to normal and Elspeth started the incredibly tedious work of looking through boxes and folders in the archive.   Every day she combed through letters, manuscript notes, research proposals, and so on and so forth, trying to match the script of Nerussa’s letter to something—anything—there.  Occasionally, she happened upon some interesting notes or an old manuscript.  One day, she found extensive notes on the philosophical and symbolic significance of the Void Nights, the two year period when the moons of Nirn, Masser and Segunda, disappeared.  She hadn’t realized until Onmund came to get her for dinner that she had spent four hours reading.  Although finds like this made the work more interesting, it also took time away from the task of finding Nerussa.

Trying to spend eight or nine hours in the Arcanaeum each day proved to be maddening, however, so Elspeth broke up the days with magic practice.  She learned several new restoration and alteration spells and attempted to practice illusion magic with Onmund, however, those sessions were never all that productive.   She fell into a pattern of waking, eating, casting, researching, eating again, sleeping—usually with Onmund and with the amount of actual sleeping varying.  They were growing close and as long as Elspeth didn’t think too much about it, she was rather content.

Aine, who was assigned by Savos to research the mysterious glowing orb, was often in the archive.  Occasionally, to help break up the monotony of each of their respective projects, they switched.  Elspeth looked for papers with symbols matching the sketches that Aine had drawn from the orb, while Aine looked to match the script of Nerussa’s letter.  By most estimates, it would take Elspeth at least six months to get through the first group of boxes that Urag pulled for her.  And that’s if she worked consistently and did not leave for any quests, or be called by any ancient Elven orders.  The project was daunting but once she developed a routine, she rather enjoyed College life.

After leaving the Hall of Attainment, Lydia’s song still ringing in her ears, Elspeth walked down to the Arcanaeum for yet another day of archival work where she found Aine and Urag engaged in what could only be described as a spirited discussion regarding her latest findings.

“And I am telling you,” she insisted, “there is nothing else in Seleth’s notes or in any of the related archives that is useful.  I need that book.”

“Aine!” Urag lowered his voice down considerably, but it was still harsh.  “Orthon stole that book—it was among the ones he took when he left.”  She gasped at this and Urag shook his head in exasperation.  He was about to excuse her to return to her work when Elspeth arrived.  Instead, his face perked up a bit.  “Elspeth!  I know you are busy, but would you and Lydia be interested in going after some more stolen books?”

Aine nodded furiously.  “Please?  I will keep on looking for evidence of this mage for you.  I really need these books and it’s the least I can do.”

Elspeth hesitated.  “I don’t know….” she said, her voice trailing.  She was reluctant to leave the letter with Aine but did not want to appear untrustworthy.

“Urag will keep the letter safe,” said Aine, as if she could read her mind.

Urag was amenable to this suggestion and Elspeth trusted his dedication to the materials in his care.  He would put the force of a thousand angry atronachs behind the care of the letter if needed and so she relented.   “Okay,” she said eventually.  “Where can I find these books?”

He cleared his throat.  “They were stolen by Orthorn, a mage who once studied here.  He took a number of books when he ran off to Fellglow Keep to join a group of renegade mages, summoners.  I think maybe he was trying to offer some kind of peace offering—I’m not certain.  The books should be there.  Orthorn too, alive or dead, however, I cannot say.”  Aine looked dismayed at this, although she tried to hide it.

“Very well,” said Elspeth.  “I’ll check with Lydia and we’ll leave…probably tomorrow.  She’s been up casting for two days straight.”

“So I’ve heard,” grunted Urag.

Back in the Hall of Attainment Lydia was fast asleep in her room.  Elspeth smiled and went into town to see the Jarl’s steward, Malur, who confirmed the location of Fellglow Keep on her map.  Then she stopped at Birna’s for lockpicks and at the Frozen Hearth where she wound up talking to Dagur and Haran for two hours before she realized how late it was getting.

Back her room she started planning the trip.  Fellglow keep was just over the Pale border in Whiterun hold and would take at least four, maybe five days of travel, including a stop in Windhelm.  When she looked up, she saw Aine at her door, looking terribly worried about something.  Elspeth greeted her and invited her to have a seat while she organized her satchel.

Aine looked around nervously before she asked, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking someone else with you, someone who knows Orthorn.”  This didn’t strike Elspeth as an unreasonable request, and so she was confused by Aine’s anxiety.

“Sure,” she agreed.  “J’zargo has gone with Lydia on several occasions and he—“

“No,” interrupted Aine quietly, shaking her head.  “Not J’zargo.”  She paused for a moment; trying to figure out how to reveal more than she was comfortable with.

“Okay, then….” Elspeth was even more perplexed.

“Could you take Onmund?  Or even Brelyna?  Onmund would be better though.  He’s better with destruction, if things get dangerous.”

Elspeth tried to look agreeable but found it difficult.  She had no problem asking Onmund along but she found Aine’s angst somewhat unsettling.

Aine sensed her unease and continued to explain.  “Orthorn wasn’t a very good mage.  He was very smart but not skilled and he had a terrible time while he was here.  The instructors were hard on him and the students were worse.  He and I were…well, we were close.  And Onmund and Brelyna were the only others who were ever kind and supportive.”  She took a breath and stopped.  “I want him to come back and he might if someone he knows can persuade him.”

“Is he allowed to come back?”

“Yes…well, Urag never mentioned the stolen books to anyone.  And if he does, he’ll just have to pay the fine,” she explained.  “He had a soft spot for Orthorn, for someone smart and curious but not otherwise talented.”

Elspeth found it difficult to believe that Urag had a soft spot for anyone who stole a book but the tenderness of the Orc’s heart was not really her concern.  For Aine, however, she had some sympathy and agreed to invite Onmund along.

At dinnertime Lydia was still sleeping so Elspeth went to find Onmund in his room.  When he saw her in the doorway he smiled and picked her up and playfully tossed her on the bed before collapsing next to her.  “Gods, you are a sight for sore eyes.  I’ve been writing scrolls all day long and I’m about to go mad.”  He put his arm around her and nuzzled his face in her neck.  “Can we take a walk later?  I need to get outside.”

“Okay,” she said.  “I’ve got something better, if you’re up for it.  Do you want to come to Fellglow Keep and chase down some stolen books with Lydia and me?”

Onmund’s eyes grew wide.  He had never been asked on any such errand before.  The number of missing and incinerated mages of late had motivated Savos to limit the number of apprentices allowed on dangerous college errands.  “Sure,” he replied.  “Lydia doesn’t want J’zargo along?”

“Aine requested that I ask you—she wants you to talk the mage who stole the books and try to convince him to return.  His name is Orthorn.”  Onmund frowned and shook his head upon hearing the name.   “What’s wrong?  Do you not want to go now?” asked Elspeth, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Oh no,” he said, reassuringly.  “I’m happy to go.  I just don’t think there is anything I can say that will convince him to come back.”

“Why not?  Aine seems to think he left because he was treated so terribly here.”

“Oh he was and I’m sure that was part of why he left,” Onmund rolled his eyes.  “I think the Altmer woman he was chasing had something to do with it as well.   Aine seems to have _forgotten_.”

“That’s horrible,” said Elspeth.

“It is,” he agreed.  “I had such a crush on her once and it broke my heart to see her pine after someone so unworthy.  Now, if she still holds a candle to him—I just feel sorry for her.”  He hugged Elspeth tighter.  “Promise me that you are the kind of woman who would leave me on the side of the road if I tried to pull that sort of nonsense.”

“Well I would, if I thought Lydia would let you live that long.”  She laughed.  “Let’s go find the new Candlelight master for dinner.”

“Is she still singing?” he asked.

Lydia was bleary-eyed and dizzy when they found her staggering around her room, not quite certain how long she had been sleeping or what day it was.  Nevertheless, she was happy to see Elspeth and Onmund and even more so when they said that Onmund would be accompanying them on their next quest.

“I can’t take another journey with J’zargo,” she explained as she smoothed her hair.  “He is a capable fighter but he is even more zealous and stubborn than you Elspeth.   In Dawnstar he tried to kill Erandur, the priest we were sent to help, just to get the Skull of Corruption from the Daedric Lord Vaermina.  I had to knock him out.  And then I had to carry him back to Windpeak Inn.  I bet he didn’t mention that.”  Onmund tried, but he could not control his laughter at this.

“Damn,” said Elspeth as they made their way to dinner.  “And I was so looking forward to the army of cat people you two were going to raise to fight the Thalmor.”


	28. Sounds of Laughter, Shades of Life

The two-day trip to Windhelm was largely unremarkable. After dealing with snow bears and wolves around Fort Krastav, they stopped to camp.  They kept watch in shifts and meant to sleep in pairs, but wound up keeping watch in pairs—the desire for conversation and company outweighing the need for sleep, at least on the first leg of their trip.

“I like having a third person,” said Lydia as she and Elspeth passed a bottle of mead between them on their watch.  “Especially someone like Onmund.  With those spells, long range is his strength and he stays there.  J’zargo was always all over the place.  I didn’t worry about him dying—well, except for the times I wanted to kill him—but I never knew what he was going to do.  And it was exhausting.”

“Yes,” agreed Elspeth.  “We’re all very compatible.”  Thinking about life in Skyrim without any responsibilities made her smile.  And then, when struck with reality, it hurt.  She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin as she narrowed her gaze to the ground. 

“Are you okay?” asked Lydia, noting Elspeth’s sudden change in mood.

“I’m fine,” she whispered and gestured toward Onmund, who was sleeping on the other side of the fire, indicating that discussing whatever was on her mind would have to wait.  Elspeth and Onmund were still in the early, playful stages of their relationship.  Onmund was attentive and affectionate and with him Elspeth was content in a way that she had never been before.  But the moment she started thinking about the future, uncertainty and anxiety ate away at her.  And it was nerve wrecking no matter which way she thought about it.  The search for Nerussa could take her far from the College or the Psijic Order could keep her there and both were dangerous.  She took a deep breath and buried her face in her arms.

“What’s wrong?” Onmund was up now and Lydia had taken over the bedroll.  He sat down and put his arm around her.

She looked up and smiled weakly at him.  “I’m just tired,” she replied, which was only partly true.

He pulled her close and kissed her.  “Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Don’t you want me to keep you company?”

“Yes,” he said.  “If you rest your head on my lap, you can do both.”  He took a bottle of mead from his satchel.

“Okay,” she said, although she really wasn’t that sleepy.  It was nice, however, to rest her head while he played with her hair.  His touch was so natural and undemanding.  With Onmund there was no pretense and Elspeth occasionally felt twinges of guilt for her inability to simply let go and enjoy the moments as they came.  She sighed and nestled in closer to him; she wouldn’t sleep but she could at least try to relax.

When Lydia woke up, they ate a quick breakfast and made their way to Windhelm.  It was still early when they arrived at Candlehearth Hall and the inn was quieter than usual.  The great hall was crowded, but the mood noticeably somber: the bard was not performing; there was little, if any, laughter, and no spirited arguments.  Nothing.

“Why is it so depressing in here tonight?” asked Lydia.

“Friga Shatter-Shield was recently murdered,” said the Susanna the Wicked as she cleared their tankards away and gestured toward the older woman in the far corner.  “Her mother Tova has been in here every night since then, drowning her sorrows in cheap mead and wine.”  She shook her head sadly as she walked away.  The news of the murder was chilling, and Onmund, thinking of his sister and her daughter, was especially troubled.  Lying in bed that night, he told Elspeth that it was the first time he ever felt anything resembling homesickness since leaving Falkreath.

Lydia was waiting in the great room when they woke up the next day.  After talking to Stenvar, a mercenary with considerable scouting experience, they decided to ride to Whiterun and walk to Fellglow Keep from there.  It was the least adventurous of their options, but it would save three days of walking.  They bought food for the trip and to bring back to Breezehome.  It was late when they arrived and Lydia suggested going straight to bed and taking care of the books first thing in the morning.  “If Alfhild gets a hold of us in the Bannered Mare, it could be days before she lets us leave again.”

Fellglow Keep was a little over three hours from Whiterun.  They arrived early and after eliminating the mages outside and on the upper levels, they found Orthorn imprisoned on the lower level.

“Onmund!” he shouted, “Thank gods someone came!  Please, please, please let me out of here.”

“Now,” said Elspeth when they had released him from his cell.  “Where are the books you took?”

“Oh.”  Orthorn sounded dejected.  “I thought perhaps you’d come for me.”

“No,” replied Onmund, who was starting to sound irritated.  “The College needs the books back.  Tell us where they are.”

“The Caller has them in the undercroft.  Since you rescued me, I could take you to her, I suppose.”  
“That would be good,” said Onmund harshly.  “Now, let’s go.”  The tone of Onmund’s voice was unsettling.  She knew that Onmund didn’t care for how Orthorn had treated Aine, but she wasn’t expecting this much hostility.

There were more mages throughout the keep; they were easily eliminated though everyone was exhausted by the time they found the undercroft--a large open room with several alcoves filled with altars and summoning circles.  When they met The Caller, she didn’t attack—she merely scolded them for making a mess.

“We came for the books,” said Elspeth as they approached her.

“If you can find them, you can have them,” she said.  “They are of no use to me.”

“Where are they?” asked Lydia, drawing her axe.

“Let’s see,” she replied and gestured to Orthorn. “If you hand him over, I’ll tell you where they are.”  Orthorn went pale and started shaking his head.

Lydia and Elspeth went to protest but before they could say anything, Onmund pushed Orthorn forward.   “Take him,” he said, almost casually.  “Where are the books?”

The Caller’s laugh was menacing as she pointed to a chest across the room.  When Elspeth and Lydia attempted to confront her, she pulled Orthorn between them.

“She’s going to kill me,” he cried.

“Indeed, I am,” she agreed.  “Slowly and painfully.”

She started to move away, keeping a terrified Orthorn between her and the other women, but with her back turned to Onmund, she didn’t see him grab his dagger and stick her in the back.  Elspeth was stunned, not certain if she was impressed with or terrified by Onmund’s cunning.   The Caller collapsed and Orthorn ran to a door on the far end of the undercroft, an exit that appeared to be locked.  While Onmund found the books, Elspeth looted a key from The Caller’s body.

When they were outside, Orthorn started screaming at Onmund.  “What in Oblivion were you thinking?” Elspeth wondered this as well.

“I was thinking that we were tired and the leader of a renegade group of mages could still do a lot of damage before the four of us took her out,” explained Onmund.  “You’re alive aren’t you?  Now, are you coming back to the College?  Aine would like to know.”

“Aine?”  Orthorn looked confused and slightly regretful.

“Oh, did you just forget about her?

“No, I—I don’t know.  Do you think I should go back?”

“No, but it’s not my decision.”

“You always had a thing for her.”  At this Elspeth’s stomach lurched.  Onmund had acknowledged his old crush on Aine, but he was so hostile toward Orthorn, she was starting to wonder if there was still something there.

Onmund shook his head in exasperation.  “Your problem Orthorn is that you are so used to following your prick around, you can’t imagine anyone doing otherwise.”

“So you’re not here following your prick around?” asked Orthorn sarcastically.

“Oh, I never said I wasn’t,” said Onmund.  “Look, I have no idea why but Aine wants you back.  If you think you can be decent to her or if you think you can stand the conventional magic studies at the College, then go.  If not, don’t.”

“I think it’s best I wait before going back to the College.  Aine aside, I’m not sure I want to be ripped apart by Urag’s angry atronachs.”  He turned to Elspeth and Lydia “You got me out of that cage.  Thank you.”  Then he took off.

Lydia stepped up to Onmund where was standing.  “Good riddance,” she said, looking toward the direction Orthorn had run.  “Four is too many.”

“Yes,” said Onmund as he made room in his satchel for the books.

“Now,” she continued,  “Did you plan that little maneuver?”

“Sort of.  I never intended to sacrifice Orthorn.  I just needed to distract her long enough to get behind her,” he explained.  “I didn’t think she would give me a such clear shot though.  I have you two to thank for that.”  He looked up at Elspeth, who looked away when he tried to smile at her.

“Let’s go,” she said as she turned and hurried past them.  She was really confused by Onmund’s response to Orthorn about following his prick around.  The phrasing itself was fairly unsettling to her and their exchange left her feeling cold.  Cold and a bit nauseated.  It was a feeling with which she was familiar.

Onmund looked at Lydia who simply shrugged her shoulders.  On the way back to Whiterun, Elspeth walked briskly and didn’t say anything.  Lydia broke the silence by asking Onmund to teach her to taste for alchemical properties.  And even Elspeth had to grin as she listened to Lydia try to distinguish between the varieties of mountain flower they picked on the way home.

“The purple ones taste like burning.”  Then she spent the next few moments coughing and sputtering.  “Forget it!  I don’t want to be an alchemist.”

When they were back in Breezehome, Elspeth went straight upstairs, saying only that she was going to bed.  Lydia and Onmund were perplexed.   “It’s four o’clock,” said Lydia.  “I have never seen her go to bed this early on an empty stomach.”  She looked thoughtfully at Onmund.  She didn’t know what was bothering Elspeth, but she had a feeling it started at Fellglow Keep.  “You should talk to her.  I’m going to find Alfhild and then I’ll meet you at the Bannered Mare for dinner.”

After Lydia left, Onmund walked slowly upstairs, where he found Elspeth in her room, lying on her bed.  When he entered, she turned away from him.  The gesture stung, but Onmund remained calm as he lay down beside her.

“Hey,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.  “What’s the matter?”

Elspeth stiffened under his touch but didn’t shrug him off.  She shook her head.

“Don’t do this,” he said.  He moved closer and put his arm around her waist and whispered,  “Tell me what’s troubling you.  Please.”  Onmund knew that Elspeth held back from him, keeping her feelings in check and he had a tremendous amount of patience for those moments of angst.  But seeing her so visibly upset broke his heart in a thousand different ways.  He wouldn’t be able to let this one go.

Elspeth squeezed her eyes shut.  There was something she wanted to ask him, but the words just hung in her throat.  Nothing in her life had prepared her for these types of confrontations.  Xeri had taught her to push her feelings aside and though Runa’s nurturing influence helped to protect Elspeth’s sensitive heart, there was a point at which detachment became habitual, something from which she had few means of wrenching herself.

When it was clear that he would lie there all night waiting, she took a deep breath and, hesitating over every other word, asked, “What did you mean when you sort of implied to Orthorn that you were following your prick around?”

Onmund was confused at first and when he realized how Elspeth might have misunderstood his comment sadness gripped his heart.  He held her tight and explained, “Oh, I was talking about how I came there with you.”

“What?”

“Orthorn was trying to put me on the defensive.  I wasn’t going to indulge him so I just agreed with him.  But I wasn’t talking about Aine.”

“You were so angry with him,” she said.  “I thought maybe you….” She couldn’t go on.

But Onmund understood.  “Aine is a friend and I hate how he treated her.  But it wasn’t about her,” he explained.  “I’ve spent much of my life defending magic and those summoners were just appalling.  And that’s how my family and the people I grew up with view all mages.”  He paused. “Knowing he left the college to do that, I was fairly disgusted with him.”

She was overwhelmed by feelings of relief.  And foolishness. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he replied as took her face in his hands and kissed her.  “Can we go eat now?”

In the Bannered Mare Lydia was sitting with Alfhild and Idolaf.  Alfhild squealed when Elspeth arrived at the table and gave her a big hug before looking Onmund over.  “Oh my gods, Elspeth!” she exclaimed, “He’s adorable.”  This, of course, made Onmund blush furiously.

“Lars is going to be heartbroken,” said Idolaf after shaking Onmund’s hand.

“He only just stopped asking when you were coming back,” said Alfhild.

“Awe…that’s sweet,” said Elspeth.  “Send him over tomorrow and he can have breakfast with us before we leave.”

“So,” said Idolaf.  “Lydia tells us she’s been studying magic.  Is this true?”

“Oh yes,” said Elspeth.  “She’s a very powerful mage now.”

“She’ll light the void out of your house,” agreed Onmund.

“I’m going to teach Lars to bring dead skeevers back to life,” Lydia said, thoroughly enjoying the look of horror on Idolaf’s face.

Saadia brought over some mead.  Alfhild grilled Onmund on where he was born, his family, his interest in magic, his impressions of Whiterun.  She skipped right over the war.  Idolaf seemed a little wary of Onmund at first, but this soon abated.   Elspeth sat back with her tankard.  Having Onmund in Whiterun didn’t inspire panicked thoughts about the future like she assumed it would.  Having him here with Lydia in the Bannered Mare and at Breezehome was comfortable and she was able, for the first time ever, to indulge daydreams inspired by Lady Mara without all the fear and anxiety that clouded those thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about 28 chapters, this is probably a good time to thank everyone who has offered kudos and is reading along. Thank you! Comments are always welcome too. Feel free to share your thoughts on the story, or Skyrim in general, your headcanons, etc.


	29. The Right Words to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite chapters, if only because of the epigraph. //archivenerd

_The Archivist’s career . . . is one of service. He exists in order to make other people’s work possible, unknown people for the most part and working very possibly on lines equally unknown to him, some of them in the quite distant future and upon lines as yet unpredictable. His Creed, the Sanctity of Evidence; his Task, the conservation of every scrap of Evidence attaching to the Documents committed to his charge; his Aim to provide, without prejudice or thought, for all who wish to know the Means of Knowledge.”_

~Sir Hilary Jenkinson, “The English Archivist: A New Profession” (1947)

After almost a week away, Elspeth dreaded going back to the archive.  She lingered over breakfast before finally heading over to the Arcanaeum and when she arrived she saw Urag and Aine waiting by Urag’s desk looking enthusiastic about something.  Well, Urag looked mildly pleased whereas Aine appeared positively giddy.  Assuming that she was excited about the books and the prospect of Orthorn returning, Elspeth felt just a bit sorry as she imagined having to tell her otherwise. 

“Oh, I figured as much,” she said when Elspeth explained that Onmund was not able to convince Orthorn to return.  She did not reveal, however, that he also hadn’t tried very hard.  And that he had been somewhat discouraging.

“We have something for you,” said Urag with a sly grin.  He looked almost mischievous, which made Elspeth somewhat uncomfortable and so she turned her attention to Aine, whose enthusiasm was not quite as disconcerting.

“I found her.”  She took a small piece of paper from a folder on the desk and slapped it down in the desk.  “I found your mage.”

“Wha…?” said Elspeth as she reached for the paper.  “Are you certain?”

“We compared the note to the letter several times,” said Urag.  “The script is identical.”

Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand as she slowly sat down.  She inspected the note carefully, not quite ready to believe it was the clue she was seeking.

_Tolfdir, I believe this is the manuscript you are looking for. ~Harinde_

The script matched so perfectly that Elspeth didn’t need to confirm it with the original letter.  She just knew.  It was a simple note, one that might not have made it back to the archive in the first place.  Perhaps Tolfdir forgot to remove it.  Or perhaps it had been used to mark a place in the file.  Perhaps.  Either way, it was in Elspeth’s hands now.   She sat and stared at it for several moments before she turned to Aine and Urag and, with a trembling voice, thanked them and asked to speak to Urag alone.

Urag pulled Nerussa’s original letter from the lockbox on his desk and handed it to Elspeth before pulling a chair up to join her.  “I remember Harinde,” he said.  “Lovely Altmer woman.  She was admitted as an apprentice but she did not practice magic.  She spent all her time down here.”  Urag looked at the letter over Elspeth’s shoulder again and tilted his head.  “She was interested in the Divines.  And she worked down here every day.  All day, just compiling notes.”

Elspeth remained silent for a few moments.  Finally, she asked, “Do you know what happened to her?”

“I do,” said Urag.  “After she exhausted the archive I sent her to Solitude to investigate some of the old radical religious groups like the Talos Cult.”

“The Talos Cult?  Is that like the Imperial Cult?” Elspeth asked, recalling the former name given to the worship of the Nine Divines.

“No, the Talos Cult was a small faction back during the reign of Uriel VII.  They plotted to murder him and seat one of his sons on the throne.  They believed the divine Septim blood ran thicker in his sons.”  Urag leaned back and scratched his beard, as if trying to recall something.  “Harinde seemed especially curious about the sub-cults of the Divines and the hero cults of the various Septims, such as the Hörme.  I sent her to see Sybille Stentor at the Blue Palace. Haafingar has seen a number of those cults come and go.  And the Imperial library in Castle Dour has quite a bit of information.”

Elspeth nodded at Urag as she ran her fingers along the edge of the original letter before tucking it into her journal.  “Thank you again,” she said quietly as she stood up to leave.  “I should go talk to Savos.  I guess I will be leaving for Solitude shortly.”

She walked slowly toward the Arch-mage’s quarters, ambivalent about her newly acquired knowledge.  Savos was alone, much to her relief, and he too recalled Harinde although he didn’t say much more about her than Urag had.  Elspeth had also hoped he would know more about the Psijic Order—perhaps indicating that she should stay or letting her know when she should return, but on this he had little information.

“The Order could return in a week or they could come in a year.  I’m still trying to figure out how they are related to that Orb.  The book you retrieved should help, but it could take months or even years to translate some of those symbols.  As much as I would like you to stay, I think you need to move on this quest of yours.  The Order will find you if they need you.”

Elspeth thanked him and left to find Lydia.  As she approached her room she heard Brelyna’s voice, panicked and apologetic. “Oh dear…that wasn’t supposed to happen.  Do you…feel all right, you look a little um—”

“Why is she green?” demanded Elspeth when she saw Lydia, who by now had stumbled back onto her bed.

“I am so sorry, I went over this again and again, and I was sure it would have better results.”  Brelyna looked at Elspeth.  “It will wear off soon.  I wasn’t trying to hurt her, I promise.”

“I know,” said Elspeth.  “I’m sure she’ll be fine, but could you leave us alone please.”

Brelyna nodded and backed out of the room slowly.  Elspeth shut the door and looked back at Lydia.  “Are you okay?”

“Everything looks sort of green and shiny.  It’s distracting, but I feel fine.  What’s going on?”

Elspeth sat down in the chair by the bed.  “We found her…or, I should say, Aine found her.  Nerussa.  Going by the name Harinde.  After she left here, she went to Solitude.”  Lydia’s eyes grew in disbelief and Elspeth continued.  “So, we go there next, I guess.  I talked to Savos about the Order and he seems to think that waiting around for them would be pointless.”  She let out a deep breath as she slumped forward and put her hands over her face.

“Oh Elspeth,” said Lydia.  She sat up and took Elspeth’s hands in hers.

They sat there like that until she looked up and whispered, “I don’t want to leave him.”

“I know.”  Lydia paused.  “You know, he’s good in a fight.  Would you consider asking him—”

“No.”  Elspeth sat up abruptly.  “Absolutely not.  This isn’t a set of stolen books we’re chasing and I won’t….” She stopped.  Her voice was shaking.  “I can’t do that.  Not again.”  She could barely get the last words out.

Lydia nodded.  “Okay,” she whispered.  She knew better than to push.  Elspeth was the one who had convinced Andil to attend Arcane, and her guilt, which had only been exacerbated since arriving at the College, was a nut that Runa had desperately tried to crack—to no avail.   It did, however, give her an idea.

“Besides,” she said.  “I’m not ready to tell him about Nerussa.  About my mother.  It’s too soon and it’s too dangerous.  It wouldn’t be fair to bring him along without that knowledge.”

“You’re probably right,” Lydia agreed.  “Okay.  Let me sleep Brelyna’s spell off.  Then, before we go, I’m going to see if the Jarl has any last minute things he would like me to take care of.”  She smiled.  “You go spend some time with your magic Nord.”

Elspeth left and walked slowly up the stairs to Onmund’s room, stopping occasionally to clutch her stomach and catch her breath.  She had no idea how she was going to tell him she and Lydia were leaving.  And she had no idea what sort of reaction she should prepare herself for.

She took several deep breaths outside his door and decided to ignore her anxiety and keep things light at first.  He was reading at his desk when she arrived at his room and he smiled brightly when he saw her.  “I thought you were working in the archive today.”

“I can’t focus on archival work today,” she said.  “I’m taking the day off.  Care to join me?”

Onmund looked at the piles of books he had intended to read and then at Elspeth who was lying on her side on the bed.  She looked so cute he could hardly stand it.  “I need to finish some work first.”

“No problem,” she said.  “I’ll just take a nap.”  She kicked her shoes off and got under the covers.  Onmund smiled and turned back to his book.  He could hear her kicking and twisting around trying to get comfortable.  After a few minutes, while he resumed taking notes on the first volume of  _Dwemer Inquiries_ , he felt something soft hit him in the back of the head.

“Oh,” he said as he turned around and saw her underclothes on the floor.  “It’s going to be that kind of a nap.”  He shut his book and stood up, peeling his robe off as he walked over to the bed.  “Do you have any idea how much work I have to do?”

You’ll have plenty of time for work when I’m not around, she thought.  But she didn’t want to think about that.  “Go ahead.  Finish your work,” she said, as if that was even a remote possibility at this point.  “I will wait.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied as he crawled into bed.

Four hours later, they were eating an early dinner—well, Onmund was eating; Elspeth was drinking mead and pushing the food around on her plate, still trying to figure out how to break the news.  She had no idea what to say, if she should just blurt out, “I’m going to Solitude” or if she should preface it with something.  And if so, what?   To make things worse, Onmund was especially cheerful despite having accomplished nothing all afternoon.  Well, almost nothing.   Elspeth had achieved a personal best, which was likely the source of his good mood.

“Hello,” said Lydia as she plopped down on the bench next to Elspeth, startling her a bit.  “I wound up talking to everyone in town.  The Jarl is not happy we’re leaving.  Anyway, he’s asked me to take care of some bandits.  I’ll take J’zargo.  He’ll like that and it will give you two another day together before….” Lydia’s voice trailed off as she noticed that Onmund had stopped eating and was staring at Elspeth, his face a troubling mix of dejection and anger.  He didn’t say anything; he simply got up and left.

“Oh shit! I had no idea,” said Lydia.  “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Elspeth.  “I just didn’t know what to say and so I didn’t say anything.”  She chuckled, mocking her own social incompetence.  “It’s typical of me.”

“Give him a moment and then go talk to him,” Lydia advised.  “Eat something first.  You look a little pale.”

By the time Elspeth returned to Onmund’s room, his anger had subsided a bit.  He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, pretending to read a book.  He didn’t look up as she approached him.  “I’m sorry,” she said, touching the sleeve of his robe.  “Are you okay?”

He peered upward.  “J’zargo is going to miss Lydia so much.  I feel so sad for him.”

And it was this, Onmund’s attempt at diffusing the tension with levity that caused Elspeth to cover her mouth and burst into tears.  He took her other hand and pulled her into his lap so that she was facing him.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face in his neck as she sobbed.  He held her tight for a few moments before asking, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was afraid that you would be upset,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her wrist.  She paused for a few moments before continuing.  “And then I was afraid that you wouldn’t be.”

This hurt so much Onmund almost couldn’t respond.  He took Elspeth’s face in his hands and positioned it so that she had to look him in the eye.  “Have I given you any reason to think I wouldn’t be upset at you leaving?”

“No,” she replied.  “My head has been spinning since Aine and Urag told me they found her.  Suddenly, Lydia and I need to leave for Solitude.  I didn’t really know what to think.  About anything, actually.”  Onmund nodded, trying to understand.  She carried so much.  All he could do, it seemed, was be patient.

They held each other quietly for a while. “Do you really have to go?” he asked.  “Couldn’t Lydia go and take J’zargo, and then come back here and tell you what they found?”

If this were only just some College errand, Elspeth thought.  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Xeri sent me here.  Don’t you remember what happened the last time I defied her?”  Onmund let out a choked laugh as pressed his head to her shoulder.

“I need to tell you something,” she continued.  “Do you know anything about Dunmer wise women?”

“Not a lot,” he replied.  “Brelyna has mentioned them.  I know that they are sort of revered in that culture.”

“Many of them are visionaries,” explained Elspeth.  “They can see and sense the future and they take this very seriously.  Xeri didn’t become my mentor out of the goodness of her heart.  On the night I was born she had a vision that I was meant to do something important.  She could never tell me exactly what, but that’s what she’s been preparing me for.  And somehow this Altmer woman is related to that.”

“Leave it to me,” he said, “to fall for someone straight out of a wise woman’s vision.”

 _Fall for_.  What?  Elspeth was overwhelmed.  All the defenses she’d been honing over the past month came rushing forward and her immediate reaction was to harden and pretend she hadn’t heard it.  While her heart wanted to respond in kind, her head wanted to curse him.  As the tension in her gut raged, she did the only thing she could think to.  She was speechless, so she gripped the back of his neck and head in her hands and kissed him.

“You’re coming back, aren’t you?” asked Onmund when they stopped.  “The Psijic Order spoke to you.”

“Yes, but I don’t know when,” she explained.  “Savos said it could be any time…a week, a year.”  She shook her head, at a loss as to what to say to him, what to ask of him.

“Then I will just have to wait for you.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“I’m telling you.”  Onmund wasn’t usually stubborn, but on this matter he was certain—at least, he was certain enough to try. His patience was a trait that had always served him well.  Besides, he wasn’t interested in the casual encounters so prevalent in the College.  Nor was he looking for the rapid trip to Mara’s temple that was so typical of his kin.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Can I ask something of you?”

“Yes.”  She was so taken with his composure and the ease with which he offered her his affection, she was ready to do just about anything for him.

Elspeth was seldom cold when they were together, but she was sometimes withdrawn.  Until now he was fine with that.  But this time, just as she was about to leave, he wanted her to give a little.  “Don’t hold back tonight,” he implored.

And so she didn’t.


	30. Every Dingy Basement

“Where are you going?”  Lydia woke to find Elspeth getting dressed.  It was just after 1AM.

“I can’t sleep,” she replied.  “I’m just going to step outside for some air.”

Elspeth was miserable.  She had barely spoken on the walk to Windhelm.  Then the only room available at Candlehearth Hall that evening was the one she’d shared with Onmund the week before.  Lydia, knowing she was a poor substitute, wanted nothing more than to comfort her friend and she found herself doing something she swore she’d never do again.  She was calling on the blessings of Mara, praying for her plan would work.

Leaving Winterhold, they’d stopped with Onmund at the Frozen Hearth for some food and to say good-bye to Dagur and his family.  She’d sent Elspeth over to Brina’s to buy lock picks under the pretense that Brina wouldn’t sell Lydia any more.  Elspeth narrowed her eyes, suspicious of this request, though she went over without asking any questions.  After she left, Onmund, whose gaze didn’t leave Elspeth’s back until she was gone, turned around and found himself under Lydia’s most terrifying stare.  He gasped, trying desperately to remember what he had done or said to offend her.  Then he realized that this must be what J’zargo feels like  _all the time_.

But Lydia wasn’t angry with Onmund.  Nor was she trying to put him on the spot.  She was recalling the very last exchange she and Xeri had before she left Breezehome.

_“Whatever you do,” she’d said.  “Don’t let her fall in love.”_

_Lydia scoffed.  “I don’t think I have any control over that.”_

_“Don’t underestimate yourself,” she protested.  “I never did.”_

Helping Elspeth find Nerussa would remain her priority.  However, that was the moment in which Lydia became determined to show Elspeth a life that Xeri never allowed.  She had been charged with helping Elspeth navigate Skryim’s culture.  And they would.  All of it,  every pleasure and passion Nords were capable of.  But even Lydia couldn’t have planned or predicted Onmund.

“Are you serious about this?” she asked.

“What?” Onmund was confused.

“Are you serious about her?” She gestured toward the door.

He nodded.  “Yes,” he said, rather quietly.

“You know, we’re not coming back to Winterhold until those elves call Elspeth again.  If and when we find this woman, we are supposed to bring her back to Whiterun.”

“Elspeth told me that,” said Onmund, still confused.

“All right,” she said, after a bit of a pause.  She took a key out of her satchel and gave it to Onmund.  “This is the key to Breezehome.  Meet us back in Whiterun.”

Onmund’s eyes widened and he wasn’t quite certain how to respond.  Of course, he wanted to be with Elspeth more than anything, but he was a bit taken aback by this gesture.

“Look,” she said.  “You’re a Nord, so you probably have that whole Nord work ethic thing, where you’re going to need something to do, earn your keep.  I get it.”  She smiled.  “There is plenty to do in Whiterun.  Even for a mage. The court wizard has more work than he can handle and no one will help him more than once because he’s insufferable.  You, however, might be able to deal with him.”

“Thank you,” he said, still somewhat surprised by all this.  “I’ll go as soon as I can.”

“Let’s not say anything to Elspeth right now,” she advised.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but she needs to be focused.”

“You’re a good friend,” he said and then smirking, “And I’ve never known a housecarl to look after someone’s heart.”

“There is no one more important to me in all of Nirn,” she explained as she looked up and saw Elspeth in the doorway.  “But if I don’t get a namesake out of this, I won’t talk to either of you ever again.”

*****

When she woke again, it was 7AM and Elspeth had still not returned.  This made Lydia anxious and so she quickly dressed and went out to find her.  In the main hall, she found Elda Early-Dawn, Candlehearth Hall’s proprietor, weeping quietly at the main counter.  And from Nils, the cook, she heard the devastating news.  Susanna the Wicked had been slaughtered the night before.  Lydia gasped and ran outside, now in a panic.

She found Elspeth on the west side of the city, crouched down and inspecting something on the ground.

“There is a trail of blood leading from the graveyard where they found her,” she explained without even looking up.  “The snow is so dirty over here from all the foot traffic so it’s hard to see.”  She continued to follow the trail of blood with Lydia following, eyes gaping.

“How did you get caught up in all of this?” asked Lydia.

“The guards asked for help, so I volunteered to gather evidence,” she said.  The blood ended at Hjerim, a house in the far north-west corner of the city.  It was locked and with people milling around, they opted not to take their chances picking it.

“Hjerim?  That’s Friga Shatter-Shield’s old home.  It’s been abandoned ever since she was killed,” explained the guard stationed by the crime scene.  “Her mother, Tova, has the key.”  He looked past them and gestured to a house up the street.  “If she’s not in the Shatter Shield home, you can probably find her at Candlehearth Hall.”  Elspeth couldn’t see his face through the mask on his helmet but his voice was filled with sorrow.

They walked slowly toward the house, both recalling the heartbreaking sight of the older woman in Candlehearth Hall, drowning her grief in cheap mead and wine.  Elspeth knocked softly at the door.  After a long pause, the grief stricken and slightly inebriated mother greeted them.  Despite her apparent state, she was polite and welcomed them inside.  Her face, drawn and withered, wore the lines of a hundred years of mourning and it clutched Elspeth’s heart so tightly that she simply could not speak to the woman.  Finally, after an incredibly awkward silence, Lydia spoke up.

“We are so sorry for your loss,” she said.  “But, if you don’t mind, we have some questions.”

“I would rather not talk about my daughter, if you’ll excuse me.”  Tova shook her head and turned away.  “I’m sorry.  She was very dear to me, and it’s rather painful to think about.”

“Of course,” said Lydia.  “We couldn’t possibly—but Elspeth and I…we want to find out who did this and we need your help.”

“Really?”  Tova had heard again and again that the guards simply had no resources to spare for a formal investigation.  Now, for just the briefest moment, her eyes twitched with the last shred of hope she had that her daughter’s killer would be brought to justice and she agreed to lend them the key.

It took them three tries just to get past the doorway; the stench in Hjerim was so overpowering.  It was a sickening mix of rotting flesh and bones, and foul smelling alchemy reagents like Namira’s rot and hagraven claw.  But apart from a blood-splattered trunk filled with the  _Beware the Butcher!_ pamphlets being circulated around the city, they found nothing remarkable in the house.

“Where is that smell coming from?”  Lydia was crawling, inspecting the floor for loose boards.

“Here,” said Elspeth.  She threw a mage light into a wardrobe and found its false back.  “Necromancy,” she said as she stepped into the hidden room.  “It looks like typical necromancy except….” Elspeth stopped and looked around.  The room was filled with body parts and ingredients thrown haphazardly around.  On an alter at the back of the room, however, the parts appeared to be placed meticulously.

“What?” asked Lydia eagerly.

“I think someone is trying to build a body,” she explained.  “That’s just…I’ve never even heard of that being done successfully.  Reanimating a corpse is one thing, but the types of magic you would have to call upon for that is….”  She stopped and looked around.  “This is like something out of a horror story, not a conjuration book.”

“We should probably report this,” said Lydia.

“Report what?” asked Elspeth.  “Necromancy?  We haven’t actually solved anything yet.”  She shook her head.  “We need more information.”  Her voice was low, but firm.  She had a quiet determination, the likes of which Lydia had never seen in her before.  She didn’t simply want to help gather evidence; she wanted to solve the mystery.  For a moment Lydia was confused but then she realized that this was Elspeth’s chance to bring someone to justice—someone who caused an immeasurable amount of grief.  It touched that place in her heart left raw and empty by Mede’s refusal to bring the Thalmor to justice for the purge.

And so she followed Elspeth all around town, seeking out people who knew about the butcher or who might know of local mages with an expressed interest in conjuration.  They talked with Viola Giordano, author of the pamphlets found in the chest in Hjerim and Nurelion and Quintus Navale, the local apothecary and his apprentice.  They all agreed that the only individual with the power and knowledge for that type of magic was Wuunferth the Unliving.

“I’ve heard terrible rumors about Ulfric’s court wizard,” Viola had said.  “It would not surprise me at all to find out he is mixed up in all of this.”  She paused for a moment and lowered her voice.  “But I don’t want to be the one accusing him of that.”

However, when they reviewed the particulars of the case over lunch, Elspeth was unconvinced of Wuunferth’s guilt.  “It just doesn’t make any sense that someone as visible as a court wizard would act so brazenly in his own city.”

“So, you aren’t going to report him as a suspect,” asked Lydia.

“No,” she said.  “I’m going to talk with him.”

At the Palace of the Kings they went straight up to the Wizard’s room, where they found the old Nord hunched over his enchanting table.  “I said you could take all the snowberries and butterfly wings you want, but I am not giving you any nightshade,” he bellowed, but didn’t turn around.

“Excuse me?” said Elspeth.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Wuunferth grunted as he turned around and saw the women looking askance at him.  “I thought you were the Aretino boy.  What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating the recent murders and we have some questions,” explained Elspeth as she tried to get a good look at him.  Between his mage’s hood and his full beard, his face was almost completely hidden.  “We heard you know a bit about necromancy.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said defensively.  “I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing! They haven’t allowed—”

“Oh please,” Elspeth said, interrupting him.  “I am also a member in good standing.  And I know that necromancy has never been  _explicitly_ forbidden at the College.”

“All right, I suppose not,” he agreed.  “What does this have to do with the recent murders anyway?”

“It appears that the killer has a sort of lair set up in Hjerim,” she explained.  “It looks like he was trying to build a body out of parts—”  At this Wuunferth grimaced.  “I know…but do you know of anyone who has expressed an interest in necromancy recently?  Or of anyone powerful—or mad enough—to try such a thing?”

“I can’t say that I do,” he replied.  “However, I think I can help you.”  He walked over to his desk where he found and opened a small journal.  “I’ve been noticing a pattern to when the killings happen.  Now that we know they are tied to some necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next one might occur.”  He studied the page for several moments. “Let’s see, he said finally.  “From a Loredas of Heartfire until a Middas of Frostfall…it will happen soon. Very soon.”  He looked back up at them, his face stern.  “Keep watch in the Stone Quarter tomorrow night.  That’s almost certainly where the killer will strike next.”

Late the following evening, Elspeth stayed by the blacksmith forge in the Stone Quarter, while Lydia patrolled the palace gate and the area around the inn.  Despite the late hour, there were still quite a few people ambling around the closed market stalls.  No one stood out as suspicious and after about an hour of watching, she needed to move, lest her muscles grow stiff from the cold.  As she turned to walk the perimeter of the market, her cloak caught the edge of some boxes outside the forge.  So it was by sheer luck that she turned back around and that’s when she saw the glint of the drawn dagger.  She screamed and bolted forward, throwing herself at the man holding the knife.  They tumbled over together and though he was strong, she managed to subdue him with a lightening spell before the guards came and dragged him away.

Elspeth slept soundly for the first time in several days and was in a pleasant mood the next morning when she and Lydia met with Jorlief, Ulfric Stormcloak’s affable and now immensely grateful steward.  “So,” he said, shaking his head.  “Calixto Corrium was the butcher.  The man was always a little odd, but I never would have expected….”  He looked back up at the women and smiled warmly.  “You’ve done this city a mighty service, my friends.  I believe you’ll find the guards to be a bit more cordial with you in the future.  And of course, here is payment for your hard work.”

It was time to leave Windhelm now.  Elspeth was a little disappointed that on her stops by the Palace, she hadn’t seen Jarl Ulfric.  She had no intention of approaching him, but ever since their brief encounter in Helgen, she was somewhat curious.  But then as they were leaving, a gruff voice came from a doorway to the side of the throne room.

“I’ll die before elves dictate the fates of men.  Are we not one in this?”

She looked and saw Ulfric Stormcloak and another man entering the throne room.  They walked past, barely noticing the women standing there.  Ulfric stepped up to his throne and turned back.  But rather than sit, he launched into a fervent tirade, his voice echoing throughout the hall.

“I fight for the men I’ve held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I’ve already done hasn’t been for nothing. I fight…because I must.”

Elspeth stood there, completely gripped by the speech.  She was so engrossed that Lydia had to drag her away.

“I want to join the Stormcloaks,” she declared when they were outside.

“No,” said Lydia.  “You’re being impulsive.  Xeri would not approve.”

“I don’t care.  I want to fight for that man,” she insisted.

“No, you don’t.  You just want to hear him giving inspiring speeches.”  Lydia wanted to laugh but she sensed that Elspeth was truly moved by the charismatic Jarl.  “Besides,” she said, “I don’t think you will like the initiation rite.  You have to bite the head off a live baby chinchilla.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she argued.

“Perhaps.  But I’m still not letting you become a Stormcloak.  Come on.”

Elspeth relented, but she continued to play Ulfric’s speech over and over in her head, committing to memory his tone, his cadence, and above all, his passion.


	31. Eleven Gallows on Your Sleeve

The ride to Solitude was long and made slow by storms throughout The Pale and Hjaalmarch.   But by the time they got to Haafingar Hold, the weather had cleared and after a long night of twitching and discomfort, Elspeth woke up in the cart to clear skies.  She breathed in the cool air as they rode along the road adorned by granite foothills and pine trees.  The hold seemed so peaceful compared to the others, but it was early still and she knew how quickly things could change.

“Solitude is still very much a city in mourning,” said Lydia as they disembarked at the stables.  She had been there on several occasions since King Torygg’s death and each time the mood had lifted only slightly.  The young king had been popular with all his subjects—Imperial and Stormcloak supporters alike—and they were shocked and saddened by the news of his death by Jarl Ulfric’s thu’um and sword.

But Lydia loved Solitude with all its shops, the Bard’s College, the Blue Palace.   Even with the Imperial army marching about, it was a beautiful city, the very cradle of Nord culture and civility and she was eager to show Elspeth.

“Because of all the turmoil of late, there aren’t as many festivals as there used to be,” she explained.  “But there is always something happening.”

And sure enough, as they arrived they walked into a crowed gathering by the main gate, looking up toward a platform where a man in rags and wrist binds stood, flanked by an Imperial captain and headsman.

“Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg.  By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude.”

As the captain proclaimed the Roggvir’s guilt the crowd responded, shouts of support and protest ringing through the air.

“There was no murder! Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat.  Such is our way!  Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!”  Roggvir’s final words resonated over the crowd and their shouts grew stronger in response.

Elspeth scrambled and pushed her way past the crowd, ducking under a shop awning just as the THWACK of the headsman’s axe sounded, breaking Roggvir’s head from his body and cracking the cement below.

Lydia cringed—not so much for the execution but for how she imagined Elspeth felt.  But when she looked up, Elspeth looked more annoyed than anything else.

“Really, is there any city in Skyrim not bent on reminding me of the most horrible things that have happened in my life?” she asked, shaking her head as they walked through the city.

The Blue Palace lacked the warmth of Dragonsreach, but it was equally awe-inspiring.  The foyer and throne room, with their marble interior and engraved with Nordic knot patterns, were not unwelcoming, but they betrayed a cool bleakness that Elspeth imagined was enhanced by the inhabitants’ grief.

The court was enjoying a rare moment of quiet when they arrived.  The castle steward, Falk Firebeard, was talking quietly with the Jarl, Elisif the Fair.  She sat primly on her throne looking just as Elspeth anticipated, beautiful and sad.  Several members of the court knew Lydia, who had traveled to Solitude on many occasions, and so she brought them right over to the wizard.  Sybille Stentor was pleased to see her

“Hello my dear,” she said.  “How are you?  And how is Farengar?”

“I am well,” she replied.  “And Farengar is…well, Farengar.”

“That to be expected I suppose,” she said dryly.  Sybille paused to look over Elspeth, “And who is this?”

“This is Elspeth,” said Lydia.  “From Cyrodill.  We’ve come here looking for information on an Altmer woman who came here about 20 years ago, going by the name Harinde.”

Sybille raised her eyes in recognition of the name but before she could speak they were interrupted by a disturbance.  They turned around to find a terrified man, gasping and out of breath, begging the court steward, Falk Firebeard, for an audience with the Jarl.

“It’s been a quiet day Falk, let him approach,” said Elisif, sounding a little impatient.  Elspeth wondered if perhaps she was also a little bored.  Lydia had mentioned, and it became fairly obvious to her that Elisif held only the title of Jarl, wielding little authority and paying even less attention to administrative tasks.  With Elisif deferring to his judgment in most, if not all, matters, Falk ran Solitude with what can only be described as a ledger-bound fist.

“It’s about Wolfskull Cave! I swear to you, unnatural magics are coming from that cave! There are strange noises and lights! We need someone to investigate!”  The man’s fear was palpable and his terrified voice echoed throughout the hall.

“Then we will immediately send out a legion to scour the cave and secure the town. Haafingar’s people will always be safe under my rule.”  Elisif reassured him.

“Th…thank you, my Jarl thank you,” stammered the man, still out of breath but now considerably less terrified.

After he exited, Sybille furrowed her brow and approached Elisif.  “Your eminence, my scrying has suggested nothing in the area. Dragon Bridge is under imperial control. This is likely superstitious nonsense.”

“Perhaps a more…tempered reaction is called for?” Falk suggested.

“Unless…” said Sybille, gesturing toward Elspeth and Lydia.  “Send Lydia and Elspeth.  I’m sure together they are more than capable.  We know Lydia from Balgruuf’s court and this one…” her voice lowered as she brought her face closer to Elspeth’s.  Her eyes were an unusual shade of orange and Elspeth held in a gasp as the wizard peered at her.  “This one is powerful.  Tiny, but powerful.”  Elspeth recoiled slightly, not quite knowing what to make of her.

“Very well,” said Falk.

“When you come back,” said Sybille.   “I’ll give you all the information I have.”

Back in town, the crowed had dispersed, most going back about their business as if they hadn’t just witnessed a man having his head lobbed off.  The body remained at the chopping block, a not-so-gentle reminder of Imperial justice.  Elspeth shuddered as they hurried by, recalling how very close she came to having her own headless, lifeless body act as such a reminder.

Elspeth found the walk to the cave invigorating although it took them the rest of the day and the better part of the evening.  They arrived at the cave the next morning, after resting in a small clearing just off the path.  The cave was occupied by several powerful mages and clearing them out took a while.  There were necromancers, but Elspeth didn’t sense anything particularly unusual about the magic in the cave.  Lydia supposed it didn’t matter to most Nords, although she recognized that there was something particularly affecting about the terror in the man’s voice.

But she had spoken too soon.  As they made their way into Wolfskull ruins, they came upon a most unusual sight.  The open cavern contained a large stone tower at the top of which rested a bluish translucent sphere into which streams of blue and purple light spun.  They sneaked up the perimeter of the tower, taking out mages and dragurs as they went along.   At the top of the tower, they saw the ritual in progress.  There were several mages at the summoning circle, chanting as a voice bellowed from the sphere.  Elspeth and Lydia looked on in astonishment as they approached the ritual quietly.

“Yes! Yes! Return me to this realm!”  The voice from the sphere was haunting and seemed to possess an enormous amount of power—more than that needed to hold the mages to the ritual.

“As our voices summon you the blood of the innocent binds you Wolf Queen!” shouted the mage who appeared to be the ritual master.

“What! What are you doing?! You fools! You cannot bind me to your wills!”   The voice of the sphere continued to roar throughout the cave.

Elspeth gasped and pulled herself closer to Lydia.  “The Wolf Queen!  They’re trying to resurrect Potema Septim,” she whispered.  “This is madness!  We have to stop them.  I’ll clear out the mages, you go right for the leader.”

“Something is wrong. There is an intruder.”  The ritual master looked fearful and indeed within moments, Elspeth and Lydia charged in, clearing out the circle.  It was a quick but messy battle with Lydia taking some shock damage and Elspeth finding her chin and lip nicked on the edge of one of the mage’s daggers before she gut him open with her sword.  While Lydia recovered, Elspeth inspected the ritual circle.  She leaned over and several drops of blood fell from her lip, scorching the platform and crystallizing into a hardened speck on the stone.  But when Elspeth placed her hand there, it was cool to the touch.  She paused, but rather than ponder the anomaly, she gathered Lydia up and hurried back to the city.

“Potema!” exclaimed Falk Firebeard in utter disbelief when they returned to the Blue Palace with news of the ritual.  They were seated at a table in Sybille Stentor’s room.

“But why would anyone want to resurrect the Wolf Queen?” asked Lydia.  By all historical accounts Potema Septima was one of the Skyrim’s most treacherous rulers.

“The Septims and their legacy have long inspired cults, fringe groups dedicated to reinstating their dynasty.  Chasing rumors of bastard Septim spawn scattered and strewn all over Tamriel.  But this is the first I’ve heard of necromancy being used,” said Falk.

“The Horme,” said Sybille, placing several books on the table.  “They were an underground movement that believed Potema and her son, the deposed Uriel III, to be the last of Tiber Septim’s true blood,” she explained as she paged through one of the books.  “But the organization in the third era was composed of insurrectionists who lead raids against Imperial interests in Skyrim.  I don’t recall ever reading about any mages among them.  Potema herself was known to have dabbled in necromancy.”  She paused and looked thoughtfully at Elspeth.  “This is an interesting coincidence.  Your Altmer, Harinde, came here seeking information on just these sorts of cults.  She would be most interested in what transpired in Wolfskull cave.”

“I will be very happy to let her know,” said Elspeth.  “Just as soon as you tell me where she is.”

“Well,” smirked Sybille.  “I can tell you where she went.”  She paused for a moment.  “Markarth.”

“Markarth!” exclaimed Lydia.  “She was trying to avoid the Thalmor.  Why would she go there?”

“Apparently, there was something there worth the risk.  I’ve already sent a letter ahead, alerting Jarl Igmund of your inquiry,” she said.  “Stay sharp!  Now is not the time to be drawing attention to a scholar of Septim worship cults.”


	32. Neutered in the Night

Elspeth thought that Understone Keep, the home of Jarl Igmund of Markarth, was incredible.  Where Dragonsreach had clean, straight lines and curves and the Blue Palace had a cool, luxurious feel, Understone Keep was an amalgam of ancient technology, stone, and fire.  If Markarth were her city, she would visit the keep and never leave, forever exploring and tracing the lines of copper and stone with her fingers.

As they approached the Jarl, they saw three Thalmor—a Justiciar flanked by two soldiers—pacing the landing just below the throne area.  Elspeth felt Lydia’s strong arm behind her.  “It’s always something, isn’t it?” she whispered as she pulled Elspeth a little closer to her and squeezed her shoulder.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she assured her.  “I’m fine.”  Elspeth appreciated Lydia’s concern, but the coddling was a bit much.  It was unsettling to see the them, but not surprising.  Ever since the Markarth Incident, in which Ulfric Stormcloak’s militia took The Reach from the Forsworn and attempted to restore Talos worship, they were a constant presence in the city, enforcing the White-Gold Concordat.

They approached Igmund’s steward, his uncle Raerek, a stern looking older Nord with a harsh jaw and a face worn down by years of war and bureaucracy.  His face softened somewhat when they introduced themselves but he retained a serious posture as he gestured toward the Jarl, who greeted them with a mixture of suspicion and aversion.  He sized them both up and looked around.  When he moved closer to Elspeth, she could see that his eyes were full of terror—as if everything he said and did was born of quiet coercion.  And perhaps, with the Thalmor literally at his feet every day, that was the case.

“You come highly recommended from Elisif,” he said abruptly.  I will put you in touch with Calcelmo.  He has notes for you but I need you to do something for me first.”

Recommended?  Notes?  Elspeth was utterly confused but decided to let it go with the hope that his rambling would eventually make sense.   “Of course, Jarl Igmund.”

“You may dismiss your housecarl.  She is not needed here.”  His tone was insistent.

Elspeth looked at Lydia.   This was am unusual request and she was unsure of how to respond.  Lydia shook her head as if to say, “Not a chance in Oblivion.”

“Excuse me Jarl Igmund, but I don’t think—”

“I must insist.”  He gestured to his own housecarl, a striking Redguard woman.  “You will be fine with us here, it will only be for a moment.”

There was an air of desperation in his tone and Elspeth could see pleading in his eyes.  She wanted to be angry, but she was starting to feel sorry for him.  “Lydia, go back to the inn.  I’ll meet you. It’s okay, really.”

“Are you sure?”  Lydia’s brow furrowed.  When Elspeth nodded to reassure her, she looked at Igmund coldly as she turned away and walked slowly out of the keep.

After she was well out of earshot, Igmund gestured toward the Thalmor agents, “Ondolemar has a task for you.  You will do exactly what he wants and then I will arrange for you to acquire the information you seek.  Go on.  Tell him I sent you.”

“What?”  Elspeth felt her throat constrict as a quiver of fear shuddered through her body.  She could barely get the word out.

Igmund only barely acknowledged her apparent dread and replied, “I promise I am not trying to make things difficult for you.  He’ll be much easier to deal with if you are by yourself.”  Elspeth saw Raerek nodding in reluctant agreement.  After a couple of moments, Igmund looked past her. When the Thalmor were at the farthest end of the platform, he leaned in and said quietly in her ear, “You should consider a pseudonym.  His task might leave you with an unsavory reputation in this hold.”

Elspeth bit her lip and glared at the Jarl, not quite sure how to respond to this.  She was getting so close.  She needed the Jarl; she needed him to cooperate with her.  But the idea of talking to the Thalmor was making her every part of her body wrench and tremble.  At least her interactions with Ancano—after her unfortunate fainting incident—were buffered by the presence of Mirabelle and Arch-mage Savos.  When she didn’t move, he leaned in again, “You will do this or you will never find Nerussa.”  His tone was not cruel or threatening; it was simply matter-of-fact.

Elspeth clapped her hand over her mouth in astonishment.  He knew her real name.   And he’d said it.  How she made her way down to the platform to the Thalmor is a mystery but soon she found herself standing in front of them.  “I am looking for Ondolemar,” she said dryly, desperate not to reveal her fear and anxiety.

“You have the honor of addressing a member of the Thalmor,” declared the Justiciar.  “Bask in it.”

Steeling herself against the terror rising in her gut that was sure to cripple her at any moment, she gave him a hard look and asked, “Jarl Igmund sent me for a task.  Are you Ondolemar?”

“I am,” he said.  “What is your name?”

“Anya,” she said, stuttering slightly.

“Hmmmm…this one is interesting,” he remarked to no one in particular.  “Powerful.”  He tilted his head with a gesture that was somehow both arrogant and warm.  And apparently capable of eroding her anxiety.  As he observed her, the numbness left her face and the knots in her chest and stomach began to loosen.

When Ondolemar stepped into the light, she gasped.  He was stunning.  His frown was not a typical thin-lipped Elven scowl.  Rather, his bottom lip was a bit plump, giving him more of a youthful pout.  His green eyes, which looked at her sternly from under the brim of his hood, were bold and gleaming—like emeralds; really, there was just no other way to describe them.  And, his cheekbones—what was it with her and cheekbones?  They were high and narrow and striking and gave his face a harshness just severe enough to remind her that he was Thalmor and therefore, vile.

But when he smiled at her, his face lost all traces of its severity and she found herself tranquil and inexplicably drawn to him.  She was basking in something all right, though it was not his superior station.  He was beautiful and reminded her of Undilar, the young Altmer who lived with them in the Spire and on whom she had her very first girl-aged crush.  Her cheeks flushed and she felt a rush of warm nostalgia pour over her as she remembered how he taught her to play chess and cast spells and read enchantments.

“Indeed! I do have a task.”  Ondolemar’s sharp voice brought her back from her memories He looked her over again.  “Or several.”  He reached into his satchel and tossed a fat coin purse at her. “Take this to Arnleif and Sons Trading Company and buy yourself something nice to wear.   Meet me back here in two hours and we’ll discuss your task over dinner.”

“Okay,” she said.  Dinner? This was most unusual, she thought.  Nevertheless, Igmund said to do exactly what he asked of her and so she hurried out of the keep and over to the shop, where she bought the most expensive clothes she could find and a new pair of shoes.The spell wore off just as she entered the room she and Lydia had rented at the Silver Blood Inn and the transition from calm to reality was so sudden and jarring, it caused her stomach to seize up and her knees to buckle and she came crashing down on the floor.

Lydia jumped up and ran over to her.  “Oh my gods, what happened?” she asked as she helped her over to the bed.  “I’ve been worried.”

Elspeth took several deep breaths as she began to process her interaction with Ondolemar. Illusion was her weakest school of magic—it was no wonder she couldn’t tell she was under some spell.  She stretched out on the bed and looked up at Lydia.  “That Justiciar in the Keep cast a spell on me and it just wore off now.”  Lydia looked horrified at this.  “Oh, it gets better,” she continued.  “I have to have dinner with him.”  She tossed the rest of the coin to Lydia.  “Here, you can enjoy meal on the Thalmor as well.  Make sure you get the most expensive bottle of Black Briar Reserve they have.”

She smirked and then frowned a bit.  “You should eat with me now,” she suggested.  “I imagine you won’t have much of an appetite at the Justiciar’s table.  Why do you have to have dinner with him anyway?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “But if anyone asks, my name is Anya.”

“You gave a false name?”  Lydia considered this for a moment.  “That’s probably not a terrible idea.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” said Elspeth.  “Igmund warned that my task might leave me with an unsavory reputation.  I can’t imagine what he meant by that…given how most Nords feel about the Thalmor, I suppose just associating with them is enough.”  She rolled over on the bed and pressed her face into the pillow, trying to quell the anxiety that was starting to grip her again.

“Oh Elspeth,” Lydia said, suddenly very distressed about something.  She looked at the coin purse and at the new clothes and covered her mouth with her hand.

“What?”  She leaned up on her elbows.

Lydia just looked at her friend.  Xeri had prepared Elspeth for so much, developing her skills in fighting, magic, stealth, lock picking, even pick pocketing.  She saw to it that there would be no situation from which Elspeth could not remove herself.  Except there was one thing Xeri did not, nay could not, prepare her for.

“Oh honey,” she said slowly, pausing over every word.  “I don’t think he just wants to eat dinner with you.”

Elspeth sat up and looked at Lydia, utterly confused.  Then, as the realization of the cause of her soon-to-be-unsavory reputation settled in, her face darkened.  She tumbled off the bed, found a bucket on the floor, and proceeded to vomit before curling her body into a ball and pushing herself into the corner.

After a long time, she turned forward and propped herself up against the wall.  She didn’t look at Lydia; she just stared forward.  Finally, after another very long silence, she said, her voice full of dread, “Again we see there is nothing I can possess, which the Thalmor cannot take away.”

Lydia crouched down and reached her hand out to touch her arm.  She had no idea how to help; she only knew that her heart was breaking for her friend.  She thought about how, when the history of the Thalmor’s terror is written, it will not tell of the most poignant casualties, of the young woman whose childhood was shattered, who was robbed of family, friendship, and now, love.  As Elspeth sat there, curled against the wall, Lydia didn’t see the energetic, zealous fighter she’d come to know.  All she could see was the little girl, the teenager, who must have, at some point, considered her life in exile, and later in training, and simply wondered, “Why me?”  It was no wonder that Xeri wanted her to remain focus and detached. She still had so much growing up to do, so much to learn and this, well this wasn’t going to help.  Or, it would.  But it had to be the hardest way possible.

Lydia moved a little closer.  “You don’t have to tell him,” she whispered.

“Are you kidding?”

She looked down at the floor.  She had observed just how difficult it was for Elspeth to get close to Onmund with the baggage she already had.  Even if she took this to her grave, it would drive a massive wedge between them.

“Maybe…he’ll understand,” Lydia was desperate to find something, some glimmer of hope in this detestable situation.

Elspeth looked at her as if she had lost her mind.  “Would you?  How understanding would you be if you thought your beloved might be trading sex for information when she’s out fulfilling her destiny?  And after only a month together?”

Lydia pursed her lips.  “I won’t let you do this then.”  She stood up and raised her head.  “I will do it for you.”  It was the only thing she could think to say at this point.

“You would, wouldn’t you?”  Elspeth let out an uncomfortable laugh and felt a rush of gratitude for Lydia’s unwavering dedication and friendship.

“There has to be some other way.”   Lydia paused and looked around, “Why don’t we bring Xeri here.  She could make Igmund talk.”

Yes, that wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention to us, she thought.  “I don’t think so,” she said.  “No.  I have to do this.  Igmund knows her.  He said her _real_  name.”  Elspeth sat up and adjusted her armor.  “Did you know that my parents were so shatteredwith guilt over losing Nerussa, they didn’t speak for a year after my mother returned from Hammerfell?   _A year._ Runa said they would simply walk past each other in the spire, never even making eye contact.  It’s a miracle I was born.”  She sat forward and leaned her elbows on her knees, pushing her fingers along her skull and pulling her hair down the back of her neck as she let out a deep breath.  “She is so important to my family.  To all of Tamriel, really.  To hear Xeri tell it, [Maeve Sigeweald](https://elspethaurilie.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/spectacular-fan-art/)wouldn’t have made it through the Oblivion Crisis if it hadn’t been for Nerussa.”

Then she stood up abruptly.  “Okay,” she said loudly as she tried to ignore the gnawing skeever feeling in her stomach.  “Xeri seems to think that finding Nerussa is part of something bigger.  Surely people have done worse for the greater good!  I can do this.”  She paused and started to remove her armor before throwing herself down on the bed face first.  It was as if rationalizing had taken all of her energy away.  “Ugh… _how_  am I going to do this?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia whispered, completely at a loss.  “Is there something we can get you?  Some potions to resist his spells?”

“Honestly.  I’m not sure I want all my wits about me now,” she explained, choking out a weak laugh.   “A calm spell is probably exactly what I need.  Although if I’m expecting it, it probably won’t work quite as well—such is the way of illusion magic.”  She still couldn’t believe how utterly and completely Ondolemar had enchanted her.

“Will they make you more suggestible to…telling him things…secrets?”  Lydia was coming back to the more pragmatic aspects of this predicament.

“No, not suggestible—well, maybe a little.  Basically, they quell all the emotions that make it possible to fight and enhance those that draw you to someone so you don’t flee.”

“Okay,” said Lydia, somewhat reassured but still incredibly distressed.  She walked over to where Elspeth was slowly pulling her clothes on, wrapped her arms around her, and kissed her cheek.

Elspeth looked at their reflection and sighed.  “At least he’s pretty,” she said, trying desperately to diffuse some of her angst with humor.

“Oh Elspeth!” said Lydia sadly, pressing her forehead against the side of Elspeth’s head.

She straightened herself up and smoothed the dress down. “I’ll just close my eyes and think of Whiterun,” she declared, clutching Lydia’s hand in warm appreciation before she gathered her things and left for the Keep.


	33. Rip Us into Pieces

By the time she reached the Keep, Elspeth, having resigned herself to her fate, was feeling mostly exhausted and numb.  As she walked slowly up the staircase, she looked around.  The impressive stone and metal features of the grand foyer, which had earlier excited her curiosity, now felt grim and harsh.  She looked up at the throne as she passed but only Raerek was there, talking to some guards.  He regarded her with a courteous nod until he saw what she was wearing and where she was heading.  His face fell, but he just stood there staring as Elspeth continued on to Ondolemar’s quarters.

“Now isn’t that just lovely,” he remarked as she entered.  He remained seated and simply gestured toward the chair opposite him.

The casual way he regarded her did little to put her at ease.  She only barely acknowledged him as she took her seat and crossed her legs and arms tightly to herself, holding her body upright, her face betraying the dread that was creeping back in and hung in her gut like a steel ingot.

He grimaced.  “I was hoping to avoid this, but your pained expression is ruining my appetite.”

Appetite for what, she wondered.  But before she could respond, she felt a slight compression grip her head.  As expected, her mind was now slightly more attuned to the effects of his spell—his thrall—and her natural ability to resist magic emerged.  He narrowed his eyes as it took a little more effort on his part, while she closed hers and breathed in deep, determined to give in just enough to make it through the evening without vomiting again **.**   The spell only managed to take the edge off the worst of her angst, however, and she sat uneasily across from him staring at the food that had been set out.  Roast pheasant, grilled leaks, baked potatoes, and the oldest vintage wine she had ever seen.  It would seem that the Thalmor spare no expense.

Ondolemar looked back over at her and raised his eyebrows before he started eating.  “I am delighted this keep hired a Breton to cook.  They know better than to dump everything into a pot with a salt pile and stir.  Such is the way with Nord  _cuisine_ ,” he said, as if the word itself was just as distasteful.  He paused and looked up at her **.** “You still seem so very unhappy.  Are the Thalmor really so off putting to you?”

Yes, she thought but remained quiet.  She looked around and stopped to stare a moment at the partition that partially obscured his sleeping quarters, the sight of which caused her stomach to knot before he cast his thrall a little stronger.  When she looked back over, his face had regained some, but by no means all, of its earlier appeal.  “I don’t….” She paused and swallowed before continuing.  “I don’t usually take this sort of…task,” she said.  She had never heard of a Jarl giving this type of  _task_  though she suppose Igmund had no idea what he had sent her to do.  She didn’t want to consider the possibility that he did know; she disliked the man enough and she still needed him.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, sounding a bit perplexed.  He poured himself another goblet of wine.

“Um….” Elspeth couldn’t make herself say it.  She just looked down at her clothes, across the table at the elaborate meal, and back toward the bed, where she set her eyes.

Ondolemar was in the middle of a large gulp of wine when he realized what it was Elspeth thought she was brought to do and he choked a bit, trying to keep from spewing the liquid all over the table.  He swallowed and put the napkin up to his face before letting out a wicked, condescending laugh and cutting his thrall short.  No one had ever laughed at Elspeth like that before.  In fact, she’d only ever heard such a laugh once, toward Andil when they were young.  And Elspeth cut that down quickly and saw to that he never heard it again—as least not as long as she was around.  Her stomach seized again and a shot of humiliation colored her cheeks but only briefly before she realized that while Ondolemar maybe frightening, she was not going to let him embarrass her.  She stared back at him angrily.

“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat.  “I didn’t invite you here to bed you.”

Elspeth felt a rush of relief so strong that she nearly fell over.  As she recovered, she straightened herself up and took a sip of wine, a twinge of her appetite slowly returning.  “So, the clothing and the dinner and the 4E 181 vintage, are just for my… _entertainment_?” she asked.

“Although, I must say,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything at all, “I do find myself rather inexplicably drawn to you.  You have a sort of comfortable familiarity.”  He sat back and brought his hands up to his face, looking back at her over his pressed fingertips.  “Quite frankly, I am sick of the usual scraggly and stupid adventurers Igmund sends my way—and it’s always adventurers—he wouldn’t deign to send his citizens to me.  And who could blame him?  Anyway, I’m bored with my soldiers and I’m sick to death of Nords.”  He pushed his lips into a crooked pout and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I take it you’re not actually from Markarth then,” she replied.

“As if this craggy, wretch of a city could give birth to a superiorly bred Mer such as myself. No, I’m not from Markarth,” he said sternly.  “I was born in Summerset Isle, where I lived until appointed as a Justiciar.  I worked in Cyrodill until several years ago.  Then in High Rock.”  He paused and looked intently at her.  “I rather liked High Rock actually.  Then, after a… _falling out_ with one of the senior Justiciars, I was assigned to this wretched place.”

He paused, as if expecting her to respond in kind.  But she continued to sit silently.  “Take a bite of that pheasant,” he encouraged her.  “I guarantee it is the best someone of your station will ever put in her mouth.  Go on.”

Elspeth took a small bite of her food.  It was delicious and she conceded to herself that he was probably correct.  She continued to eat slowly, taking small bites and keeping her eyes on him.

He smiled, satisfied at his ability to make her obey even the smallest commands **.**    “You intrigued me almost immediately,” he explained.  “I can tell you have quite a bit of power, skilled in destruction probably or one of the other lesser schools.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t have fallen to an illusion spell quite so easily.   You carry an ebony weapon, which tells me you are fairly strong for your size and probably decent with a blade.  So, maybe you specialize in restoration.  Yet, you wear a decent set of armor so you probably don’t rely on wards although I bet you can cast a strong one.”

He wasn’t wrong about her, but she wasn’t certain why any of this was remarkable.  When she didn’t respond, he continued.  “Either way, you have, or want people to think you have, an interesting balance of skills.  You are quite young, which leads me to think that you were well trained, to be able to strike that balance at such a young age.”

A terrible thought crossed her mind, that he somehow knew…something.  Maybe he knew everything.  But just as her face darkened and her brow furrowed, he cast his thrall again.  “Stop making that face.”  He sounded annoyed.

“All right,” she agreed, her anxiety once again abating.

“And yet, you came over filled with such angst.”  He leaned in closer and looked her right in the eye.  “What is it about the Thalmor that terrifies you so?”

Elspeth picked up her goblet and finished the wine to buy some time to think.  She had no idea what to say.  There was nothing in his spell pushing her to respond but yet she felt compelled to say something.  Finally, she looked up and said, “I think the terms of the Concordat are unjust.  And I am sympathetic to those who wish to worship their god in peace.”  Then, after a deep breath she said, “And I fear that you and others like you would use that sympathy against me.”   It sounded forced and rehearsed and she prayed it would be just convincing enough.

“Very well,” he sighed and sat back again, as if disappointed in something.  “I do have a job for you.   Just a mundane task, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Okay,” she said, somewhat pleased to be moving along.  The sooner he gave her something to do, the sooner she could excuse herself.

Ondolemar sat up straight and smirked.  “I need your help rooting out Talos worship in the city.  You are going to Ogmund’s house on the northeast side of town and find me some evidence.  An amulet or some other talisman will do just fine.”  As he finished speaking, he pulled his spell off quickly so that she would feel the full weight of his directive.

Elspeth felt the familiar seizing in her stomach and simply froze.  “Excuse me?”  She could feel her voice tremble.

“You heard me,” he replied.  “It won’t be difficult.  Ogmund is the bard at the inn and won’t be home until later.”

The casualness with which he delivered this information took the last bit of air straight out of her lungs.  He looked so smug that she wanted to smack him, but all she could do was grip the sides of her chair.  She knew how the Thalmor treated Talos worshippers and she wouldn’t be a party to that.  She shook her head.  “I won’t,” she croaked.

“Of course you will,” he said calmly.  “You came in here willing to give me the most intimate part of yourself.  Why should I believe you hold your politics in such high regard?”

“This isn’t about politics,” she protested, her voice raw.  “This is about someone’s life.”  Elspeth felt every last nerve in her body start to collapse.  It would have been so much easier if he just wanted to fuck her.

“Well isn’t that just the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.  “I wonder if the Nords would do as much for you.”

So many of them already have, she thought, which only strengthened her resolve.  “You’ll have to get someone else to do this,” she declared as she stood up.  But when she tried to move, he hit her with a thrall so strong she nearly collapsed forward.

“Sit down!”

Elspeth fought the spell as hard as she could but all she got for her trouble was a headache as she staggered back into her chair.  When she looked up, Ondolemar was grinning at her.  Even in her enthralled state, it occurred to her that this wasn’t a job for him.  It was a game and he was enjoying every minute of it.  And he was so powerful, he could hold her in a state unable to leave the room and yet, just aware enough to begin to feel the anguish prompted by his demand.

“You will do this for me.  You need something from Igmund or you would not have come here tonight.  And if I tell him that you were uncooperative and obstinate, not only will he refuse your request, he will likely ban you from Understone Keep or all of Markarth.  Because when people make trouble for me, I make trouble for him.”

She felt the effects of the spell drain from her head.  The contempt she felt was palatable but she was speechless.  This went against everything Runa had taught her about Talos and the Nords.  But she was stuck—the best she could manage was to entertain fantasies of Xeri beating the information out of Igmund.  And that wasn’t going to happen either.

“Let me see if I can make this a little easier for you” he said as if her resistance were something that could be sweetened with a small compromise.  “If you do this for me tonight, I might not turn him in.”

Elspeth felt bile rising in her throat.  “Are you insane?” she asked.

He sneered as he stood up and from a shelf he brought over a large wooden box, which he opened in front of her.  She peered in as he started rifling through its contents.  It was filled with amulets.  There couldn’t have been less than forty in the box.  “No!” she cried as she winced and looked away.

“Oh please,” he said.  “I don’t believe for a moment that you are really so delicate.”  He dug through the box until he found a specific amulet, which he held up and admired as if it brought back warm memories.  “This is the one.”  He pushed the box aside and leaned back on the table in front of her.  “Look at this,” he demanded.  Knowing how many people were tortured and killed for those amulets, she felt guilty for recoiling and so she braced herself and looked.

“This belongs to Gisela,” he explained.  “She lives right by Ogmund.  I had my soldiers take it a couple of months ago.  You can return this to her if you’d like.  Tell her you found it in a cave or something.”  He held it out to her.  “I don’t have to  _follow up_  on all the amulets I acquire.”  He smiled, a bright mocking grin.  “She will be so very happy to have it back.”

She ignored the amulet and continued to glower at him.  He placed his hands flat on the table, bending forward so that his face was just an inch from hers.  “I will have Ogmund’s amulet tonight.  You know that I, or one of my soldiers, can easily slip over there unnoticed.  And I guarantee, if I have to do this myself, by tomorrow Ogmund will either be dead or wishing he was.  And anything you do to try to stop me will have you thrown in Cingha Mine so fast you won’t know what hit you.” He paused and tilted his head.  “You’re a sweet young thing. I don’t want to think about what would happen to you there.”

She slumped back in her chair and rubbed her brow with her fingers.  A lump grew in her throat and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was, in fact, going to steal Ogmund’s amulet.  When she stood up, she snatched Gisela’s amulet.   Grasping the talisman tightly, she took a deep breath and looked Ondolemar in the eye.  “Talos forgive me,” she said before storming out of his quarters.

*****

The following morning Igmund looked just as apprehensive and averse as he had the day before.  He had no interest in the details of Ondolemar’s task; he was just eager to get them out of the throne room and to his court wizard, Calcelmo.  Elspeth could barely comprehend what was happening.  She hadn’t slept, her mind raced as the events of the evening played over and over in her mind.

Gisela, as Ondolemar indicated, was very happy to have her amulet back.  “I thought for sure the Thalmor took it,” she explained.  “I’ve been so scared all these months.”  This made Elspeth wince inwardly and she tried to refuse the gold she was pushing toward her.  But Gisela was insistent and Elspeth soon feared that she was insulting the woman.  She eventually accepted it, vowing to give it all to Heimskr when they returned to Whiterun.

Retrieving Ogmund’s amulet proved to be slightly more difficult as it was well hidden and she might have given up had she not found the locked chest with the false bottom.  It was so carefully and fearfully hidden that the guilt Elspeth felt when she removed it was unbearable.  She turned it over to Ondolemar without comment.  She just looked at him coldly, trying her best to feign stoicism, not wanting to give him the final satisfaction of having shattered her sense of decency and self-esteem.

So, Elspeth, exhausted and somewhat bedraggled, let Lydia lead her around the Keep.   Calcelmo was focused on his enchanting table and was less than pleased when Igmund interrupted and took him aside.  His face went from general displeasure to the same aversion and fear Igmund’s held, though it softened somewhat when he saw how weary and sad Elspeth looked.

“Very well,” he said as Igmund excused himself and hurried back to the throne room.

Calcelmo looked the women over and said, “All right.  I’ll give you the information you need, but I need you to do something—”

“She’s done enough!” exclaimed Lydia, who felt terrible for Elspeth, to say nothing of her own guilt for misunderstanding Ondolemar’s intentions and for not accompanying her to Ogmund’s—although this had been Elspeth’s preference.

He shook his head.  “You idiots.  Do you even know who I am? The most recognized scholar on the Dwemer in all of Tamriel, and you people keep bothering me!”  He turned back down to his enchanting table.  “If you aren’t going to help me, then I’m not going to waste my time helping you.”

“You’re  _that_ Calcelmo?”  Were she not so burdened with guilt and exhaustion, Elspeth would have been star struck.  “Look,” she said.  “We’ve had a rather trying time, what is it that you need?”

“I’m sorry….” he said, his tone now a bit sheepish.  “I’m in the middle of a very stressful project and then you come here looking for….”  He stopped and reached into his pocket.  “Here.  Take this key.  There is a giant spider in Nchuand-Zel.  My workers call her Nihme, the poisoned one.  If you deal with the spider, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Spider!” said Elspeth.  “I can do that!  I can kill a spider!  What a nice, normal thing to do!”  In her exhausted state, her enthusiasm bordered on the absurd and she nearly toppled over as she staggered away.

Oh, for the love of Talos, thought Lydia.  Elspeth was in no shape to do anything.  “Wait Elspeth, I’ll take care of this.”  She took the key and made her way up to the excavation site while Elspeth wandered around, leafing through Calcelmo’s books and trying to avoid looking at the scholar who was now observing her with a troubling mix of curiosity and angst.

When Lydia returned, they walked quickly up to the Dwemer Museum and into his laboratory, where Calcelmo led them through several chambers disabling Dwemer traps as he went along and reactiving them as they cleared the area.  Finally, at the far end of a large workroom, he took another look before speaking.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve brought here?”  His eyes were fixed intently on Elspeth.

“That wasn’t my intention,” she said.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“Does that really matter?” asked Lydia.

“ _Harinde_ ,” he began, exaggerating the name they all knew to be false, “gave me two names when she left.  Two.  If you know one of them, I’ll know you can be trusted.  Now, who sent you?”

Elspeth gulped.  This was it.  She hoped with everything that she had that her mentor had not overestimated her own importance.  “Xeri Tharys.”  She assumed the other name was Sigeweald, either her mother or father, but that seemed entirely too risky to mention.

Upon hearing this, the tension in Calcelmo’s face lessened but only slightly.  “All right,” he said quietly.  “I can tell you that Nerussa left here several years ago.  She went to the Rift, where she has been living ever since.  As far as I know she is alive and doing well.  Occasionally, she finds cryptic ways of communicating with me and I would appreciate it if you never mentioned that to Jarl Igmund.”

“Do you know how we can find her there?” asked Lydia.

“Talk to the Jarl’s steward,” he advised.  “She should know.”

“What happened here?” asked Elspeth.  “How did you find out her name?”

Calcelmo crossed his arms and took a deep breath.  “She came here to work in the mines, a rather unremarkable undertaking here.   She stopped by the Keep occasionally to ask about my research and use the library.  I soon learned that she wasn’t trying to make her fortune, she had a project—something related to metallurgy and gemology.  She wasn’t exactly forthcoming, but I didn’t mind.  I understood that.”  He stopped and smiled.  “We became good friends.”

Metallurgy and gemology, thought Elspeth.  This is becoming curiouser and curiouser.  “Anyway,” he continued,” interrupting her deliberation.  “We were down here talking one day and we went up to the throne room.  We didn’t know that the Thalmor Justiciar normally assigned to this Keep was replaced.  She’d let her guard down and he recognized her from the war.  She was taken into custody immediately.”  He stopped and looked down.

“Oh gods,” whispered Elspeth.

“Indeed,” he said.  “Thankfully she was being held in the Thalmor’s quarters and not Cingha Mine while Igmund dealt with the Justiciar.  My nephew and I managed to bring her back here.  And she told me as much as she could between here and there.”  He looked up and around.  “Come this way,” he said as turned around and led them up and out to the wizard’s balcony, which had an astonishing view of the city.  He pointed toward a break in the wall leading to a cliff-side path and ending in a waterfall.  “The last time I saw her, she was climbing down that path.”  He looked wistfully downward.  “And down into the waterfall.”

“I suppose Igmund was eager to turn her over,” said Elspeth.  “To win himself into the good graces of the Thalmor.”

Calcelmo turned back quickly and angrily.  “Igmund gave me enough time to get Nerussa out of there.  He created a bureaucratic nightmare to delay the Justiciar.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “That Justiciar told Igmund that if he turned Nerussa over without any record, any evidence, that he would arrange it so that every Justiciar assigned to this hold would turn a blind eye to anything remotely resembling Talos worship in this city.   Justiciars would simply amble along.  Igmund refused.”

Both women were stunned silent with this news and Elspeth’s bitter feelings toward the Jarl were starting to take a turn.  “But why?” she asked, when she recovered from her surprise.

“Because Igmund knew that handing over someone the Thalmor was willing to make such concessions for could only end horribly…for everybody.”

Elspeth nodded.  “Thank you,” she said.

“I have to get back,” he said.  “Please give Nerussa my best.”  As they walked back down to the workroom and through the laboratory, he turned again and asked, “Did Igmund have you do something for that Justiciar?”  
“Yes,” she said softly.

“It’s no wonder you didn’t trust him.  I would have just had you kill the spider,” he said, a bit uncomfortably.

Lydia’s eyes widened in disbelief but before she could complain, he continued.  “If you ever need anything in Markarth again, come to me first.”

It began pouring while they were waiting by the stables for a carriage and Elspeth just looked into the sky as the water poured over her face.  Finally, she looked back up at Lydia.  “Can we go by way of Whiterun and spend the night?  I need…” she paused.  “I need to sleep in my own bed.  And have a drink with Jon Battle Born.  And give Heimskr all my money, and possibly my first born child.”

“Of course,” said Lydia who thought this was a marvelous idea, although she dared not say why just yet.  “What do you want me to do with that dress?”

“Burn it,” she replied as she boarded his Kibell’s carriage and they made their way home **.**


	34. So Sick of Complacency Now

Lydia was so furious that she let the door to Breezehome slam behind her as she stormed inside, forgetting completely that Elspeth was probably still sleeping in her room upstairs.  She was in a terrible mood.  The night before they had come home to a cold house and she had to hold back her disappointment lest Elspeth discover that she’d invited Onmund to Whiterun and he hadn’t yet arrived.  She didn’t even want to consider that he might not be coming at all.  And now this.   She could probably forget about being welcome in Blagruuf’s court ever again  But that really wasn’t her concern right now. She threw down her satchel on the table and paced the floor, trying desperately to calm herself.  Two seconds later, the door slammed again as Idolaf came charging in, screaming.

“Have you lost your mind Lydia!?!” His face was red and she could see the vein in his forehead throbbing.

He had some nerve, she thought.   “My mind?  Have I lost  _my_  mind?” She was livid.  “I’m not the one who just left the market after berating an old woman!”

“I wasn’t  _berating_  her,” he protested.  “I was merely trying to explain—“

“Oh come on!  Olfrid was bullying her,” she interrupted.  “The fact that you just stood there while he called her names and threatened her isn’t helping your case.”

“He didn’t threaten her!” he shouted.  “And you didn’t have to hit him.”

“I didn’t hit him!”  She wanted to.  Lydia wanted to pound Olfrid to the ground when she saw him shouting at Fralia Grey Mane, but she settled for shoving him back toward the Wind District.

“Are you finally picking a side now?  Is that what this is?  After everything my family has done for you?”

“This isn’t about picking sides and you know it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.  You—”

“The Battle Borns are like family to me,” Lydia interrupted.  “They were there when I had no one and I have never stopped being grateful.  But that doesn’t mean I will just stand there and let—”

“Oh please!  You’ve been barely tolerating Olfrid for years.”

Lydia was silent.  That was somewhat true; over the years she had learned things about the man that had left her image of him tarnished.  But this had nothing to with that.   “You have a lot of nerve talking to me about being grateful Idolaf,” her voice had lowered and she spoke slowly now, betraying her disappointmentas well as anger.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone both angry and exasperated.

Lydia swallowed against the tightness in her throat.  This was going to sting but she didn’t care.  Olfrid and Idolaf had gone too far.  “When you were a little boy and your father pissed away all his money on mead, who made sure you always had food to eat?”

He looked at her, sheepish at first but then he turned defensive.  “The Battle Borns were always generous with me, and your mother—”

“It was Fralia!” she interjected harshly, slamming her fist down on the table.  “It was Fralia Gray Mane who never went to bed unless she knew for certain that Idolaf had a hot meal.  Every night she went to your house, even if it meant confronting one of Grímnir’s drunken rages.”  She shook her head and before she could stop herself, she shouted more.  “Gods, even your inebriated father treated her better.”  Shit, she thought.  She didn’t mean to go that far.

But Idolaf just stood there silently, struggling to ignore lump growing in his throat.  There was no one in all of Skyrim who could cut into him like Lydia could and she knew it.  He glowered at her.

Lydia softened a bit as she watched him struggle to keep his face from breaking wide open.   She understood, to some extent, why he needed Olfrid’s approval.  And if say, he’d married Olfina it would be Eorland’s approval he would crave so desperately.   But Idolaf was better than this.  He had to be.  “What happened to you?” she asked, her voice now pleading with him.  “What happened to the little boy who used to come running home from the tundra with fists full of wild flowers for his tante Fralia?”

Idolaf’s face hardened again and he looked sternly at her.  “That little boy grew up and learned that sentiment and nostalgia do not mix with politics.  And I pray to the Eight that you figure that out.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but before she could respond, Afhild stormed in.  “What’s going on here?” she asked.  “Lydia, did you hit my father?”

“No,” she said.  “I got between him and Fralia and told him to back off.  When he didn’t, I physically turned him around and shoved him away.”

Afhild just stood there stunned, her eyes angrily looking back and forth between her best friend and her husband.  Finally, she clenched her teeth and shouted, “Well better Lydia than Eorland!  What were you two thinking, Idolaf?”

“She was harping on about Thorald.  She wouldn’t leave us alone!”

“Oh I have no doubt that Fralia Gray Mane forced two big Nord men into a shouting match.”  She pursed her lips and stared at him.

Idolaf had no response to this.  “I’ll see you at home,” he said finally, turning once more to glare at Lydia before leaving.

After he left, Afhild sat down at the table and buried her face in her arms.  “Look,” said Lydia, “I’m sorry if—“

“Don’t apologize,” she replied as she pulled her head up.  “I wasn’t kidding when I said better you than Eorland.  Or Vignar!  Could you if imagine any of the Companions had heard that?”

Lydia actually had to stifle a giggle at the thought of Farkas tossing Olfrid across the market.  She sat down on the bench.  “So, will I ever be welcome in the Battle Born home again?”

“Oh you know how it goes.  Mother would throw father out before she’d let you feel unwelcome.”  She laughed uncomfortably and put her face in her hands again.  “What am I going to do about my family?” she groaned.  “I don’t even want to think about how much Jon is going to drink tonight.  He takes this feud to heart in ways I will never understand.”

“He’s a poet,” said Lydia.  “He takes it to heart because that’s where he feels it most.”

“True,” she agreed.  Lydia squeezed her friend’s arm, which made her smile a bit.  “Anyway, by the time you get back from Riften, it will be as if nothing happened.”

But it did happen, thought Lydia.  The resentment and anger were growing and it was only going to get worse.

“I should go,” said Afhild as she got up from the table.  Lydia walked her to the door and gave her a brief hug.  After she closed the door, she walked back and slumped down at the table, still sad and distracted and so she was startled when the door to the alchemy lab squeaked open.  Elspeth was peering out from behind it, looking somewhat apprehensive.

“Oh!” said Lydia, “I didn’t know you were in there.”

“I was just working….”  Her voice trailed off as she looked at Lydia.  “That got really personal.  Do you want to talk?”

“I want….”  Lydia stopped and wiped away the tears that were forming.  She looked at Elspeth intently.  “I want to join the Stormcloaks.”

“No you don’t,” said Elspeth.  “You just want to hear Jarl Ulfric give passionate speeches—wait, no, that’s me.”  She smiled sympathetically.  “You just want to settle a score with Idolaf for reasons that are emotional and not political.”

Lydia smiled weakly, but she still looked so dejected.  “I just don’t understand,” she said.  “I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for Idolaf to hold his support for the Imperials with the same grace and civility the Gray Manes have in their support of the Stormcloaks.  He’s always been confrontational and stubborn.  But I’ve never seen him act so cruel.”  Lydia took a deep breath and continued.  “He and Avulstein Gray-Mane were best friends growing up.  Without the Gray Manes he would have turned out just like his father.”  She leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist.  “His mother died giving birth to him and his father hated him for it,” she explained.  “Fralia looked after him and loved him as well as her own children.”

Elspeth nodded; she understood.  There was a special place in her own heart for women who took care of motherless children, as Runa had for her.  There was an awkward silence and Elspeth, not knowing what else to say, suggested getting some food.

“Yes!”  Lydia’s face brightened somewhat at this idea.  She had been at Carlotta’s stand trying to do just that when she witnessed the confrontation between Fralia and the Battle Born men.

The women walked slowly to the market.  It was a beautiful day, cold but sunny.  The air was crisp and there was nary a cloud in the sky.  The market had resumed its typical bustle, as if nothing happened although Anoriath looked a bit warily at Lydia when they passed by his stand.

“Oh Lydia!” said Fralia as they approached.  “Lydia, I am so grateful for your help today.”  She put out her hand, which Lydia took and held.  “I know that you are very close to the Battle Borns.”

“It’s because I’m close to them that I will not let them get away with such insolence,” Lydia assured her.

“You’ve always been such a good, kind girl,” she said, patting her hand lovingly.  And then, gesturing toward Elspeth, she asked, “Who is this?”

“This is Elspeth,” said Lydia, suddenly embarrassed, looking as if she had done something wrong.  “She is Runa’s ward, from Bruma.  I’m so sorry…I should have brought her by.”

“Don’t apologize…it is a pleasure to meet you,” said Fralia.

“The pleasure is mine,” said Elspeth, smiling warmly back at her.  But Fralia’s face had fallen again, the sides of her mouth twitching uneasily.

“Is there something else you need?” asked Lydia.  She looked around and leaned in a bit.

“All I can think about is Thorald…they say that he was killed, but I know better. Lydia, I know my son is alive!”  In Elspeth’s experience, the assurance with which she spoke these words was unmatched.  “Those Battle-Borns…they’re in with the Imperials. They know it too, and yet they lie to my very face!”

Lydia went to protest but she stopped herself.  Really, there was nothing she could say in their defense.

“How do you know that your son is still alive?” asked Elspeth.  Her curiosity was sincere and she hoped it would be received that way.

“Please, come visit me in my home tonight.  I can tell you the whole story,” she pleaded.

Lydia just stared off into space, bewildered and troubled.  Elspeth assured Fralia that they would stop by that evening.  They wandered around the market for a bit and after buying food from Anoriath and Carlotta, they made their way home.

After dinner, Lydia seemed ambivalent about visiting the Gray Mane home.  Elspeth didn’t push; she presumed that she was troubled by the possibility that Fralia was correct about the Battle Borns’ knowledge of Thorald and also that such a visit would indicate that she was choosing a side.   She was relieved when Elspeth left, saying she was happy to go alone.

“Welcome to our home,” said Fralia as she welcomed Elspeth inside.  She seemed disappointed that Lydia was not with her, but remained silent on the matter.

“Mother, what is the meaning of this?  Who have you brought into our home?” She heard a man’s voice bellow from somewhere across the house, but couldn’t see who was talking.  As she crossed the doorsill, a large man, dressed in scaled armor and carrying a massive two-handed axe came charging out of another room and stood firmly in front of Elspeth.

His posture was more paranoid than threatening and so she wasn’t particularly frightened.  Still, she readied herself to cast, just in case.

“Alvustein!” Fralia admonished him.  “She’s here to help us find Thorald.  She’s a friend of Lydia.”

“Lydia!” he sputtered.  “Lydia is practically a Battle Born.  No.  It was foolish to bring her here mother!”

“That’s not true.  As a member of Balgruuf’s court she…she’s still been very good to our family.”  Fralia protested.  “She practically shoved Olfrid to the ground when he shouted at me today.”  Fralia felt that she could trust Lydia.  She also hoped that Lydia, or this Elspeth, might exploit their relationship with the Battle Borns as well.  For her, it was worth the risk although she certainly understood her son’s trepidation.

Avulstein was forced to relent on this point.  “Lydia is a true Nord,” he agreed.  “But who is this one?  We can’t trust anyone!  Who knows what they’ll do if they find me here!” He strengthened his posture once again and Elspeth stood back.

“She was raised by Zette’s sister in Bruma!” explained Fralia, although Elspeth imagined this was meaningless to the armed and terrified warrior in front of her.  “Please,” she continued to beg.  “I can’t take any more of this.  No weapons, please.  Let’s just talk.”

And so they talked.  Alvustein calmed down just enough to explain that he knew for certain the Imperials were holding Thorald.  He just didn’t know where.   He insisted that Idolaf knows and asked Elspeth to find something—a missive or other communication from one of the Legates or General Tullius—with proof of Thorald’s imprisonment.   Elspeth listened intently.  She was still laden with guilt over what happened in Markarth and of course, the sight of a distressed mother was more than she could bear.  So she agreed to help.  At the very least, she could confirm their suspicions and be done with it.

Outside, she walked up toward the Battle Born home.  It was dark and quiet on the northwest side of the Wind district.  She knew the Battle Borns were out for the evening—they ate together at the Bannered Mare every Middas.  Slipping in the backdoor was easy but the locked office proved to be much more difficult.  It was an expert lock and she was low on picks.  She was focused and working slowly and when the bedroom door slammed behind her, she jumped and broke her last pick.   _Shit_ , she thought.

“Elspeth!”  It was Bergritte.  “What in Oblivion are you doing, trying to pick Olfrid’s office?”

She stood up, trying desperately to think of something.  Of course, nothing came.

“Sit down!” she said sternly and Elspeth obliged, backing away from the door and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Bergritte’s face was severe as she looked at Elspeth.  “There’s a rift here in Skyrim,” she began, “and can’t neither magic nor the passin’ of time make it right.”  She sat down next to Elspeth and let out a long breath.  She looked weary.  “You know, I remember….”  She stopped as if uncertain she should go on.  But after a few moments, she continued.  “Fralia labored for four days with Thorald,” she said.  “There was a huge storm.  Zette had been called away to Riverwood and the priestess at the temple was overwhelmed with sick people.  Eorland Gray Mane, the very embodiment of Nord stoicism, was a mess.  I sent him to the Apothecary for blisterwort, just to get him out of the house.  He wasn’t gone but a half hour and Thorald arrived just as he came back home.  I caught him, red and screaming and perfect.”  She smiled at the memory.  “He never gave his Ma any trouble after that.  No.  Thorald was a good boy.”

She stood up and opened the office door.  After a few moments of shuffling, Elspeth heard her call out.  “The Gray Manes made their choice.  It was the wrong choice.”  She came out of the office and stood over Elspeth, holding a folded slip of paper.  Elspeth was confused but she took the paper and read

_It has come to my attention that inquiries have been made as to the whereabouts of one Thorald Gray-Mane. It is my duty to inform you that Thalmor agents have taken possession of the prisoner and have escorted him to Northwatch Keep. I don’t think I need to elaborate. It is in everyone’s best interest if the matter is dropped entirely. I trust there will be no further inquiries as to this matter.  ~Gen. Tullius_

Elspeth looked back up, folded the letter and placed it back in Bergritte’s outstretched hand.

“They are traitors,” she said.  “And if you tell anyone I said otherwise….”  She crossed her arms and looked intently at Elspeth, who simply nodded.

“Thanks,” she whispered and she hurried out.  She walked slowly down their steps, her mind spinning with thoughts of Thorald and the Thalmor.  When it was simply the Imperials, it seemed like a simple errand.  A favor.  But knowing it was the Thalmor it suddenly seemed different.  Personal.  Something was now burning inside her and it simply relaying some information to Avulstein would not be enough to quell it.  Within moments she came upon the Gray Mane’s door.  Instead of stopping, however, she walked back down to Breezehome, her mind made up.

*****

“You’re going to do what?” exclaimed Lydia.

“I’m going to rescue Thorald,” Elspeth said as she gathered every stamina, magicka, health, and poison potion in the house into her satchel.  Also mead, dried meat, and some apples.

“No!  We’re going to Riften tomorrow,” Lydia was starting to realize that there was no limit to Elspeth’s fervor.   “We don’t have time for a rescue mission.”

Elspeth paused as she made room in her satchel for more supplies.  “You’re not coming,” she said quietly.  “I have a plan.  I’m going to hire that mercenary we met at the Winking Skeever.  To hear the publican tell it, he’s practically invincible.”

Lydia just stared at her, wide-eyed and terrified.  “I…I can’t let you do this.”

“It’s not really your decision.”

“We have to go to Riften.  We were only meant to stop here for a night or two and we have to get Nerussa,” she said.  “I don’t know why you—”

“Look, we caught a lucky break in Winterhold and now we’re months ahead on that search.  And Calcelmo says she’s living safely somewhere in the Rift.  She can wait a couple of weeks.” She paused and swallowed.  “Thorald may not have that much time.”

“Elspeth,” she replied, her voice softer now.  “You don’t have to do something good to make up for—”

“That’s not what this is about!” she interrupted Lydia again, angry now.  “At least that’s not all this is about.”  She continued to organize and reorganize her satchel, moving bottles and lock picks around.  “This is something I have to do.  Maybe it’s guilt because of the amulet.  Maybe it’s the grieving mother thing.  But I don’t think so.  I can’t explain it.  But I’m going and you’re not going to stop me.  Don’t try me Lydia.  Please.”

“Okay,” she replied.  Elspeth looked so fierce and determined, she could at least try to understand.  “But why don’t you want me with you?”

“Because you need to stay behind and make it look like I just went up to Solitude for some simple errand.”  She stopped and considered her next statement carefully. “Also, if I don’t make it back, I need you to leave a note with Idolaf, telling him what I did and then you need to get Nerussa and bring her back her back here.  Or take her to Bruma yourself; I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

Lydia bit her quivering lip.  Elspeth was serious and she had a feeling that whatever she did to try to stop her would be met with harsh resistance.  “Fine,” she whispered, her voice shaking.  Lydia struggled to contain her frustration.  She wanted to knock her tiny friend over and lock her in the potato cellar.  But she was tired of fighting with the people she loved. “I still say you don’t have to do this.”

But Elspeth knew what she had to do.  She hugged Lydia tightly and after taking a final inventory, she left Breezehome, made a quick stop at the Drunken Huntsman, and took Bjorlam’s last carriage out.


	35. My Heroes Had the Heart

“An Imperial, and Breton, and a Nord are drinking at an inn.  They each get a fly in their mead. The Breton pushes his tankard away in disgust. The Imperial reaches into his glass and plucks the fly out. The Nord plucks the fly out, shakes it violently over the glass, saying, Spit it out, ya bugger!”

Yep, thought Elspeth, we’re going to die.  She could hear Benor laughing beside her and starting another joke.  “A priestess of Arkay and a Vigilant of Stendarr walk into a tavern….”

This was the Gods’ punishment for her reckless zeal and stubborn determination.  At the Drunken Huntsman, Jenassa had offered her services when she asked for directions to Northwatch Keep, but no, Elspeth wanted to keep the mission anonymous and find someone outside of Whiterun.  She supposed that wasn’t reckless or stubborn, but she probably should have taken her up on it.  She meant to hire Belrand, the spellsword from Solitude, but he had been contracted for a month-long job in the Pale.  When she asked where she might find someone discreet, Sorex Vinuis sent her to Morthal to find Benor, a scrappy young Nord who occasionally took odd jobs.  She met him at Moorside Inn where they brawled and had a drink.  He appeared tough, but had no defensive or offensive magic ability and so she politely declined his offer to accompany her. 

“Anya!” he hollered, as he trotted up from where he’d fallen behind.  “Anya, am I a mage now?”

“What?” she said, trying—and failing—to suppress her exasperation.

Benor seemed not to care, however.  “My armor feels very strange against my skin.”  He squirmed a bit and frowned.  “Do I have magicka now?”

“It’s enchanted to help protect you against destruction magic.  You’ll get used to it,” she reassured him.

“If you say so.”  He grinned although his tone suggested that he wasn’t convinced.

Every time Elspeth had tried to leave Morthal, he was there, waiting to go along with her.  With little time and patience left, she relented but not until after spending the rest of her coin enchanting his armor and buying every last useful potion, poison, and ingredient from Lami, the local apothecary.

He wanted to be a guard, but he had yet to be appointed to the town watch.   He liked to talk.  A lot.  Elspeth recalled how Ralof liked to talk, but he knew how to pace himself.  Benor did not.  And he didn’t ask her any personal questions.  Normally, this was her preference, but now she longed for a chance to control the tenor of the conversation.  He didn’t appear to need much sleep either, which would have been wonderful if he would have stopped talking on his watch long enough for her to rest.  Finally—and when he wasn’t looking—she shoved some tundra cotton, leftover from the Resist Magic potions she mixed for him, into her ears and managed to catch a couple of uninterrupted hours of slumber.

“I’m the best warrior in Morthal, and that’s no boast.”  After the 345th time he said this, he proved it when a troll came bounding down the path toward them.  Elspeth cast a powerful fireball and just as she was aiming another one, Benor fired an arrow into the Troll’s face.  She had to draw her spell back as he ran up and cracked its head open with his axe.  The Troll was down and Benor, without missing a beat, continued his story about the time when he was ten and the caravans were leaving town and he followed them halfway to Dawnstar before his da realized he was gone, and they offered him moon sugar, which he didn’t eat because he just wanted to look at the Khajiit because he liked to watch their tails sway in the wind and have you ever noticed that Argonian tails don’t quite have the same sort of swing?

If she could get him to stop talking, maybe they wouldn’t die after all.

In three days time, they arrived and camped overnight a safe distance from the Keep.  The following morning, they approached slowly and hid behind a small hill.  The winds off the Sea of Ghosts were frigid but the day was surprisingly clear.  Three guards were visible from where they sat and, using a Detect Life spell, she saw three more behind the wall.

“We’re going up against Thalmor,” explained Elspeth.  “These wizards are mad beyond reason. They understand only violence.”  Benor nodded enthusiastically.  “I need you to be absolutely quiet as we begin our attack.”

“Oh, I can be quiet,” he said.  “When I was a little boy, my grandma used to have me and my brother play The Quiet Game.  I never won the game, but I was okay at it.”

Elspeth dropped her head.  “Benor,” she whispered.  “Talking about being quiet is not the same as being quiet.  You need to keep your mouth shut.  If one of us is in danger, then you can shout.”

He nodded furiously and silently to let her know that he understood.

“Okay,” she said.  “When you see me along the wall by the entrance, I’ll signal you to nail that guard and the one up there with your poisoned arrows.  Aim for their faces, like you did with the frost troll and that saber cat.”  Elspeth was still amazed that he got the saber cat it the eye.  If they were going to get through this, however, she had to believe it was more than luck.  “As you draw them out, I’ll get them with spells before heading in to get the other ones.  When those guards are down, you come in after me.  And make sure the potions I gave you are accessible.  Got it?”

He nodded again.

“Talos guide you,” she said, nodding back toward him.  His eyes widened slightly at the mention of Talos.   Then he smirked and readied himself for her lead.

Elspeth crept slowly up to and along the wall of the keep.  On her signal, her new companion started firing arrows and when the first two guards ran out, Elspeth was able to finish them off with destruction spells before she went in to the courtyard with Benor soon following.  The guards didn’t use as much magic as she anticipated and they made short work of them before heading inside the Keep.   The biggest surprise, however, was Benor.  When he needed to be, he was steady, serious, and proficient.

“There will be wizards in here,” she explained.  “I have better natural magic resistance than you do, so I’ll try to draw their fire.  You come from behind and crack them in their heads.”

Inside, they stood with their backs against the wall, listening carefully.  After a few moments, Elspeth gestured that they should sneak forward.  But before she could move, she felt Benor grab and squeeze her wrist.  “You’ve been a good friend to me,” he said quietly. “That means something.”

“What?” asked Elspeth, baffled by this sudden expression of camaraderie.  “Benor, I brought you someplace where you and I are most likely going to die.”

“You gave me a chance,” he explained.  “No one else does.”

She decided that this was not a good time to remind him that he really didn’t give her much choice.   His comments tugged at her heart and while she was not particularly in the mood for such sentiment, she felt the sides of her mouth twitch a bit.  But she shook it off.  They had to stay focused.  “Okay,” she said.  “Let’s do this.  If we take it slow and stealthy, we might actually get out of this alive.”

Elspeth led the way down the long narrow hallway and through several well-lit storage rooms.  Her heart was racing.  While her boots stepped softly and her armor made almost no sound at all, Benor’s step was careful but heavy and keeping him close to the wall without his armor scraping the stone proved to be difficult.   Finally, she decided to go ahead and signal him forward when she was certain he would not cause a disturbance.  It was going to be a very long trek through the keep.

The first Thalmor they came upon was a wizard sitting at a table reading.  Seeing him sitting there quietly in his robe and hood—it made her heart seize in her chest.  No! she thought.  She allowed Ondolemar to destroy that part of herself that could claim to be honorable.  She absolutely could not be scared of them.  Not anymore.  She and Benor had killed all the soldiers outside.   They could do this.

When she scanned the room, she also saw a soldier, and signaled “two” to Benor who nodded and readied his axe behind her.  Then she cast an impressive fireball right to the wizard’s head.  He tumbled off his chair as Elspeth rushed forward, sword drawn, and sliced his gut open.  Just as the soldier tried to descend on Elspeth, Benor came barreling in the room and cracked him over the head while she swung around and jammed her sword into his neck.

They moved to the doorway and listened carefully to see if anyone would come investigate the mess they made.   When no one arrived, they continued on, first down a narrow hallway and then into a wide stairwell, where they found two more soldiers.  Benor was able to pick one off from the top of the stair with poisoned arrows, while Elspeth charged forward, tossing a fireball and catching her foot on the edge of the armor belonging to the soldier Benor had just killed.  She stumbled and slammed face first on the stone floor.  Even as she howled in pain, she managed to flip herself over but before she could get up, the soldier was over her.  Just as he raised his axe, however, a well-aimed arrow caught him in the back, causing him to lurch and giving her just enough room to hit him with lightening.  Elspeth scrambled to her feet, nodding appreciatively at Benor as he came running down the steps.

They followed another narrow hall and Elspeth detected three people in the upcoming room.  They were soldiers, sitting around in what looked like a tavern, with tables and a counter and bottles of wine and mead set out.  Recalling Benor’s jokes from their journey, Elspeth found herself wanting to laugh inappropriately.  She caught his gaze and he grinned but then quickly resumed a combat face.  He was good at this, she though and then she felt bad for doubting him earlier.  If the city watch continued to refuse his petition, maybe mercenary work would suit him.

With their helmets off, the soldiers in tavern-like room appeared to be a bit more relaxed.   The angle of the door prevented a nice arrow shot.  So, after scanning the room carefully, Elspeth took the lead, casting fireballs throughout and causing general mayhem while Benor charged in.  He went right for the soldier behind the counter while Elspeth took on the two soldiers closer to the door, which proved to a little more difficult than she imagined as they forced her into a corner.  She heard a crash of lightening from the other end of the room and after she’d killed her soldiers, she jumped up and saw a wizard coming for her.  She cast a fireball and a ward in succession and lunged forward, sinking her sword into her chest.  This killed her but not before she cast one final lightening spell, from which Elspeth collapsed as her ward ran out.

She healed herself quickly and looked around frantically as she pulled herself up, the reverberation from the spell still stinging her muscles.  “Benor! BenorBenorBENOR!!!” she cried as she stumbled and tripped over scattered tables and chairs.  His body was propped up against the wall directly across from the counter.   She readied Healing Hands as she came crashing down on his chest.  But she was too late.

Elspeth closed his eyes and stood up, overwhelmed with something—she didn’t even know what.  She felt like she was going to cry but somehow couldn’t.  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.  He had called her a friend and she shrugged it off.  She felt terrible.  Guilty.

She looked over the room slowly.  The Thalmor took everything from her—the thought had played in her mind over and over in the months following the Purge and in the last several days.  But now, this…the sadness she felt was bitter and raw and the loss felt quite unlike anything she’d felt before.  She looked at Benor.  He wasn’t hers.  But he belonged to the world.  The Thalmor didn’t take everything from  _her_.  They took everything that was good and honorable and they took them from the whole world.  From everyone.  And they had to be stopped.

The realization turned the raw bitter feeling in her heart to wrath and she snapped.  Before this, her reckless enthusiasm brought her  _to_ situations.  Now, it was going to push her all the way  _through_  one.  She was done with the slow, steady pace that had gotten her this far and she suddenly found herself raging through the rest of the keep.  No sneaking.  No planning.  No thinking.

She charged into a huge, two level room with several soldiers and wizards, throwing a frenzy of fireballs around and slipping into a mindless outburst of hacking and slashing.  Her advantages were speed and the element of surprise and somehow she managed to slay two soldiers and two wizards.  Later she would reflect on how incredibly stupid her tactic was, but for now she was running on pure fury.  She pressed on, storming the halls…stopping to fight and then replenish her  _majickahealthstamina_.  Fight.  Replenish.  Fight.  “That!” she screamed, as she ran her sword through the gut of the mage sitting at the table at the end of the next hallway, “is for Benor!”

“And that is for Andil!” After she took down the soldier guarding the closed door that led to the prison area.

At the two soldiers in the prison cell area she threw fireballs until they were writhing on the ground.  “That is for all of Arcane University,” she screeched at the first as she drove her sword into her neck.  “Even that bitch Dabienne.”  She whipped back, but the second soldier was already dead.

She turned out of the prison area and when she saw the rack at the other end of the hallway, she stepped up her pace, entertaining fantasies of what she was going to do to the next Thalmor she confronted.  But when she burst into the room, she took one look at the torturer and the prisoner in front of him and decided just to finish him.  She drove her sword into his spine, quickly looted the key, and unlocked the shackles that held the prisoner’s arms to the wall as the rest of his body dangled.

Thorald Gray Man pitched forward, groaning and mumbling about friendly faces.  Elspeth could barely hear him—her head was spinning.  He rubbed his wrists and stretched as he stood up and stared at the tiny, half-crazed Breton standing in front of him.  “Who are you?” he asked.

His voice grated in her head and as she came down from her rampage she was confused and distraught and even a little contemptuous.  “I am no one to be trifled with,” she replied, somewhat harshly.  “That is all you ever need to know.”

“What?” he asked, perplexed by this response.  She looked up at him as a wave of lightheadedness overtook her.  Fralia, he looked just like Fralia.  Thinking about the Gray Mane matriarch and her pleas for help gave her mind a jolt and brought her back around.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she trembled and tried to catch her breath.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I said that.   I just killed a lot of Thalmor and….” Her voice trailed off as she looked back at the dead body of the torturer.

“You didn’t like it?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, still staring at the body.  “I wouldn’t say that.”  They were both silent.   However, Thorald was too grateful and Elspeth too overwhelmed for feelings of awkwardness. “I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me from this place,” he said finally.  “I suspect I’d never see the light of day otherwise.”  He looked intently at her.  “But why would you risk your life for a stranger?”

“Your mother and brother asked me to help,” she replied.  “I came to bring you home.”

Thorald’s face brightened and then fell.  “They’ll go looking for me and Whiterun will be the first place that they search,” he said.  “It’s probably not safe for Avulstein either.  Our best hope now is to fall in with the ranks of the Stormcloaks.”

Elspeth was disappointed.  Bringing Thorald back to Fralia would have done much to calm her troubled spirit after all the grief and madness the end of her journey had brought.  But she knew he was right.  “I understand.  But, what will I tell your mother?” she asked.

He paused for a moment and said, “Tell her, suffer the winter’s cold wind, for it bears aloft next summer’s seed.  She will know what it means.”


	36. Tugging at your Hand

“Elspeth!”  She opened her eyes slowly and lifted her head, peeling her face from the bottom of the carriage where she saw two blurry guards peering at her from the end of the cart.  She groaned and tried to sit up but she was spent.  Every muscle in her body ached and she flopped her head back down.

The walk from Northwatch Keep had been exhausting and made even worse by her incredibly misguided attempt to drag Benor’s body all the way back to Morthal using a makeshift sled fashioned out of old boards and rope.  First she hit a storm, which turned out to be a boon as it covered the path leading between Northwatch and Elspeth being formed in the snow by the sled. On the second day, it became clear that bringing Benor home was going to be impossible.  The journey was too long and the path too difficult.  At the rate she was moving, it would take more than a week just to get to Solitude.

The ground was too frozen for any sort of proper burial, so she took his body into a thick cluster of trees and did her best to cover it with branches she cut with his axe.  It was, woefully inadequate, but it was something.  In Morthal, Alsfur, the Jarl’s steward and husband, thanked Elspeth for her efforts when she returned Benor’s axe.  He seemed almost moved by her gesture but by then she was so sick with exhaustion that she barely noticed and the last thing she remembered was answering “Whiterun” when he asked where she was heading.

“Toki,” said Bjorlam.  “Get her out of here, I need to take these nice people to Markarth.”

“Come on Elspeth,” he said as he crawled in and helped her out.  “Can you walk?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled as she righted herself on her feet, holding herself against Toki and looking up at the familiar walls surrounding Whiterun.  Not since the very first night she arrived in Whiterun had she been so relieved anywhere.   She hobbled slowly up the path, helped by Toki who saw her just inside the main gate.  It was late and the market stalls were closed so she took the first turn and walked up the path to House Gray Mane.

Fralia clutched the handkerchief she was holding to her chest when she saw Elspeth standing in the door and brought her inside, her face drawn with terrified anticipation.

Elspeth didn’t waste a moment. “Thorald is alive,” she said as soon as Fralia closed the door behind her.  “I got him out of the dungeon where he was being held prisoner.”

She gasped loudly.  “You did?  Where is he?  I must see my son at once!”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.  He didn’t think it was safe to return,” she explained, feeling her chest tighten as Fralia’s face fell in disappointment.

“What?  After all this, I can’t even see him?”  She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.  “Then…how…how do I know you’re not just telling me what I want to hear?”

“He said to tell you…” Elspeth paused, wanting to be certain to repeat Thorald’s adage correctly. “Suffer the winter’s cold winds—”

“For it bears aloft next summer’s seeds!  That’s my boy!  That’s my Thorald.”  She stepped forward and took Elspeth’s hands in hers.  “For now, it’s enough to know that he’s alive.  I can find peace in that.”  The touch of the old woman’s hands eased the weight that had settled into her chest, but before she could say anything, Fralia was hurrying around the house.  When she came back she presented Elspeth with a beautiful axe.  “I had Eorlund forge this for Thorald.  I suppose he can’t have it now.”  She held it out, “Why don’t you take it.  We can always forge another for the day this war ends and Thorald can come home.”

Elspeth took the weapon.  Unlike most axes, this one felt comfortable in her grip.  Familiar.  “It’s beautiful.  Thank you,” she said quietly.  “I have to go home now and let Lydia know I’m back.”

“Of course.” Fralila placed her arm around Elspeth’s shoulder as she walked her back toward the door.  “Thank you, dear friend.”  Before she left, Fralia pulled her close and said.  “Runa would be so proud of you,” which almost brought tears to her eyes.

At Breezehome, Lydia was sitting at the table reading and drinking tea when Elspeth limped through the door.  She yelped and leaped up, almost stumbling into the fire as she scrambled across the room.  “I was so worried,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Elspeth.  She held her out at arm’s length, “Is Thorald alive?” Her eyes sparkled as Elspeth nodded slowly.  “I want to show you something!” she exclaimed.  She reached for the door.  “It’s a bit of a walk, but you can tell me about how you saved Thorald!”

“No,” she replied, a little harsher than was probably necessary.   Lydia was practically bouncing on her heels.  Elspeth was happy to see her but her unbridled enthusiasm was too much. “I’m exhausted.  I killed a lot of Thalmor.  I lost a friend.  And I’m not even entirely certain how I got back here.  I’m going to bed.”

Lydia looked dejected and nodded as she whispered, “okay.”   Her disappointment was evident.  Elspeth gave her hand a quick squeeze and walked upstairs.  She was so drained that simply lifting her arms to don a nightshirt was painful.  Her cloak and armor dropped to the ground and she left them there in a messy pile as she collapsed into bed.

When she woke up it was still dark.   Lydia was sitting at the table in her room, drinking a tankard of mead.  Elspeth rubbed her eyes and laughed.  “How long have you been there?”

“Not long.  I figured you were nearing your 20th hour of sleep and would be up soon.”

Elspeth propped up on her elbows and stretched.  “I’m sorry if I was harsh.”

Lydia shook her head.  “I should have known you would be tired.  But you need to get up and get dressed because I want to show you something.”

“All right.”  Elspeth couldn’t imagine what she was so exited about.  She just smiled inwardly and put her armor on.  And after a quick dinner, they left Whiterun and headed northwest along the tundra.  The night was clear and their route was lit by the moons of Masser and Secunda.

Elspeth relayed her tale of violence and grief on their trek.  Although her eyes continued to betray her excitement, Lydia’s mood was a bit dampened by the story and she quickened their pace now, even more eager for their destination.  Elspeth didn’t mind this.  She was still somewhat weary and sore, but the brisk walk along the flat, grassy tundra felt light and invigorating compared to her recent hikes along the frozen paths of Haafingar hold.

They approached a large rock formation and as they made their way around, came upon a campsite with a tall stone stairway leading up to another formation lit by a dull glow.  It resembled a ruin somewhat, but the steepness of the stair made it difficult to get a clear look

“What is this?” she asked.

“This,” explained Lydia as they approached, “is Silent Moons camp.  Several years ago we raided a group of bandits that settled in here.  Now Jon Battle Born keeps it maintained.  I think he likes to have someplace to go when he can’t deal with his family.  But we’ve all camped out here at one time or another.”

Elspeth nodded.  “Yes, but why are  _we_  here?” she asked as they made their way up the stairs.

“I wanted to show you the lunar forge.”  Lydia grinned as she trotted ahead.  “Come on!”

Elspeth was still a little perplexed, but decided to humor her.  When they arrived at the top of the stairs, Lydia stepped behind and nudged her forward.  She could hear clang of hammer against metal and felt the warmth of the fire as she rounded the narrow entrance and walked into the lunar forge, where Onmund was working.

_Onmund was working the forge?_

Elspeth gasped, not quite sure if what she was seeing was real or some juniper berry induced hallucination.  When he saw her standing there, mouth gaping, Onmund tossed the glowing metal slab he’d been hammering back into the fire and before she could say anything, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up for a kiss.  A long, sweet kiss, borne of yearning and relief.  “I missed you,” he whispered as he drew his lips to her ear and down along her jaw and her neck.

“I missed you too,” she replied as she gripped the back of his head, letting her fingers get tangled in his hair, still not entirely certain that this was real.  “What are you doing here?  I didn’t know you could forge.”

“You didn’t think my grandmother wanted me to take over a forge I couldn’t use, did you?  When I was younger, my parents reluctantly agreed that if I apprenticed with my grandfather in the morning, I could spend the rest of the day with Runil and Zaria and other magically inclined people around Falkreath.”  He paused for a moment.  “You know, I did feel bad about that, but he had another apprentice—and she made plenty of money when she sold it.”  He smiled as he led her around the fire to show her what he was working on.  There were books and papers and charts everywhere.   He handed her a book, _Notes on the Lunar Forge_.  “Sergius gave me this and said that all the information in it is incorrect and the research needs to be redone.  So, I am going to make daggers throughout the various moon phases and study the enchantments.  And Adrienne Avenicci said she would sell them.  Lydia introduced us.”

Elspeth looked on in astonishment as he talked and walked around.  From a chest on the other side of the forge he brought out an ebony dagger.  “I’m using steel for the rest, but I made this one last week.  It’s the strongest enchantment yet.  I think because the moons were full.”  He held it out to her.  “It’s for you.”

Her eyes widened and her heart swelled as she took the blade from him.  “It’s beautiful,” she said, almost breathlessly as she admired it by the glow of the fire.

“I can make a decent dagger…nothing like that though,” he said, gesturing to the new axe in her belt.

“I like this more,” she said as she ran her fingers along the dagger’s hilt.  And it was true.  The axe Fralia had given her was a beautiful, generous gift of thanks.  But this…no one had ever given her anything like this before.  No one had ever taken the time and care to craft something just for her.  Everything about this moment—the gift, the fact that he was here for her now, after weeks of feeling so helpless and frenzied—stirred something in her, something beyond her emotions.  It stirred her deep-seated need (which she tried so hard to ignore) for him.  She had to have him and she had to have him now.

She pulled him close to her, grabbing and tugging at his clothes.  As his robe loosened and came undone, their fingers yanked—almost fighting over—the buckles and straps on her armor.   They kicked and twisted out of their clothing and Elspeth hooked her arm around his waist and pushed herself forward as he moved down to ground, leaning back on his elbows.  She lowered herself down on him, wrapping her legs around his waist, as he drew himself upright, clutching her back and hips.  They came together like this, over and over, until she cried out, arriving at the place where she could find absolute solace.

*****

She woke with a start, alone and naked, curled up on a bedroll and covered by a wool blanket and her cloak.  It took a couple of moments, but then she remembered arriving at the camp and the lunar forge.  At some point they left the forge for the camp’s sleeping quarters, a cavernous area filled with bedrolls, chests, and bookshelves.  She shivered as she scrambled around looking for clothing.  Her armor was folded on a wooden chest but she grimaced at the thought of putting it on.  Inside the chest, she found Onmund’s extra robe.  It was too big, but wearing it made her happy.

She found him cooking outside and after a breakfast of cured meat, apple slices cooked in honey and spices, and warm mead, they took their tankards and sat on the ledge just outside the camp’s sleeping quarters.   Onmund leaned back against the wall and Elspeth nestled into his arms as they looked out over the tundra.  She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever felt so content.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said after some time had passed.

“Yeah?” He nuzzled her ear and played with her hair a bit.

“The past couple of weeks have been rough,” she explained.

“Lydia told me a little about your journey from the College.  The Butcher and Potema.  She said Markarth was unpleasant but she didn’t elaborate.”

“It was awful,” she said.  “There was a Thalmor Justiciar I had to deal with and he took a great deal of pleasure in casting powerful calming spells on me.”  Onmund’s face grew dark as she told the story—leaving  out their misunderstanding of Ondolemar’s intentions.  When she got to the part about the amulet, she couldn’t even look at him.  She simply buried her face in his robe and cried.

Onmund wanted so badly to ease her weary soul but he was at a complete loss.  All he could do, it seemed, was hold her and listen.  But Elspeth needed more.  He was trying to think of something comforting to say when she looked up suddenly.  “Can you cast expert illusion spells?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.  “Why?”

She turned to face him.  “When I get back from Riften, will you help me learn to resist those spells?  That Justiciar just wanted to mess with my head.  If something like that happens again…I may not be so lucky.”

Onmund didn’t respond.  The look of concern on his face worried her and she pulled away, her heart sinking in her chest.  She wanted him to help because of his skill, but her request seemed to bother him.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said quietly.

“It’s not that,” he said.  He looked at her intently.  “You’ve seen how powerful those spells are.  Do you trust me enough to get into your head like that?”

“Of course,” she said.  For a brief moment she was troubled by his need to ask, but decided that he was simply being cautious.

“Okay,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close again.  As she nestled back into his chest, he looked back over the tundra.  Suddenly, he became very excited.  “Look!” He pointed to a pair of mammoths roaming over the plains in the distance.  “I’ve never had a chance just to see them roam.”  They looked so gentle in the distance, their trunks waving as they ambled along. After a few moments he asked, “What should we name them?”

“I don’t know,” said Elspeth, thinking for a moment.

“We have to name one Lydia,” said Onmund.

“True,” she agreed.  “We’ll name one Lydia and the other one…Stampy.”

“Stampy?” he exclaimed.  “With a name like that, he’s going to get his butt kicked all the way across the tundra.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.  “Lydia won’t let anyone hurt Stampy.”

“I suppose not.”  Onmund smiled.  “What happens now?  Are you two heading Riften today?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “And if all goes well, we’ll bring this Altmer woman back to Whiterun and send for Xeri.”

“I can’t wait to meet Xeri,” said Onmund.  He seemed almost excited at the prospect, which baffled Elspeth.  “Do you think she’ll like me?”

“Xeri doesn’t like anybody,” she said, smirking.  “Maybe Runa will come too.  Runa is going to love you.  She will bake you sweet rolls.  And then she will make inappropriate comments about grandchildren.”  She laughed and then sighed. “I should probably head back to Whiterun soon.”

Onmund pulled her in for a kiss.  “I’ll walk with you.  I need supplies.”  They cleaned and closed up the camp, and as they made their way back to Whiterun, Elspeth couldn’t help but observe the ease with which Onmund had settled in.  Sure, he was bouncing back between Breezehome and the camp but as they entered the gates and he nodded to the guards and assured Adrienne he would have more daggers soon, it seemed as if he had come home.  Elspeth felt a rush of warm excitement as she thought, perhaps they both had.


	37. No Sleep 'til Riften

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. I had so much fun writing this.

“Welcome to Mistveil Keep. How might I assist you?”  Anuriel’s greeting was pleasant, but turning toward Lydia, her voice cooled.

It was late when they arrived in Riften and the steward was overseeing court business while Jarl Laila had dinner in the main hall.  Apart from a couple of guards wandering back and forth, they were the only ones up by the throne.  This was a relief as Elspeth wanted to deal with as few people as possible, although she did not know what to make of Anuriel’s reaction to Lydia.

“Yes,” began Elspeth.  “We are looking for an Altmer woman who we’ve been told has been living in Riften or in the Rift for several years now.”  She paused, not entirely certain that she should reveal the next part.  Lydia had reassured her that Jarl Laila was a vocal supporter of the Stormcloaks and harbored no sympathy for the Imperials or the Thalmor.   But in Skyrim such political sentiment did not necessarily extend to the needs of a fugitive, particularly if she happened to be an Altmer from Cyrodill.  Elspeth considered this but with little choice she reluctantly continued, keeping her voice low.  “She would have sought someplace secluded perhaps, as she was trying to avoid the Thalmor.”

Anuriel looked thoughtful for a moment and gestured toward bench in the corner behind the throne.  “I need more details,” she explained as they sat down.

Based on the information from Calcelmo, Elspeth gave an approximation of when the Altmer might have arrived and that her name was Harinde, although Elspeth supposed she might have taken yet another name.

“She sounds familiar…she sounds like someone who was associated with Birkir Wartooth before he died.  His son, Trygve, became Laila’s thane last year.  I believe he is taking care of his father’s affairs now.”

“So, we can find the son at Honeyside?” asked Lydia, referring to the home designated in Riften for the Thane.

“You could try.  He comes by only occasionally.  You might consider him one of those out-and-about Thanes.”

Lydia smiled knowingly.  “Should we talk to Jarl Laila then?”

Anuriel rubbed her fingers over her brow.  “I’m going to be straight with you Lydia.  Jarl Laila is…well, she’s not exactly  _pleased_  with Balgruuf right now and is not inclined to do him—or anyone associated with his court—any favors.”

Elspeth looked at Lydia who simply rolled her eyes.  “Is it personal or political this time?”

“These days, they are one in the same, aren’t they?”  She sat back and thought for a moment before she continued. “I remember how helpful you were a few years back.  We were light on housecarls and guards and heavy on bandits and you did us a good turn.  Laila may be  _displeased_  with Balgruuf right now, but I can look past it.”

“Thank you,” said Elspeth.

“Wait here,” she said as she stood up and retreated to a room in the back.  When she returned she had a ledger, which she began paging through as she sat back down.  “It’s as I expected,” she said, mostly to herself.  She pursed her lips and paused, as if considering her next statement very deliberately.  “Wartooth sold his property a short time after this Altmer would have arrived.  And then I believe he purchased more.”  She paused and looked at the women cautiously.

“Okay,” said Elspeth slowly.  “Where?”

Anuriel lowered her head and, after glancing over the main hall, said quietly.  “I think he bought the property off the record.  It’s not illegal…exactly.  But it means that we don’t have the information here.”

“Well, where can we get this information?” asked Lydia.

Anuriel cringed a bit.  “That would be the province of Maven Black-Briar, and I can say, without a doubt, that she will not be forthcoming with either of the likes of you.”  She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was going to say next.  “Even if she did, she would probably send you to one of her associates anyway.”

“Her  _associates_?” asked Elspeth, somewhat irreverently.  She was becoming impatient.

The steward responded while looking past them, keeping her eye on the movement in the main hall.   “The Thieves Guild,” she said.

Lydia’s eyes widened, “The Thieves Guild?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Officially, I am supposed to say that they are little more than unorganized rabble and not much of a threat at all.  But, they are still active and they handle much of Maven’s unofficial business and hold whatever records she might keep of such business.”

Lydia was quiet and so Elspeth asked, “Then where can we find them?”

“You’ll want to talk to a man named Brynjolf.  He’s the ginger whose been trying to sell some elixir in the market during the day, and he’s in the Bee and Barb at night.  Keerava, the publican, can point him out.”  She looked up and gestured toward the main hall again.  “And I would greatly appreciate if you didn’t mention that I sent you.”

“Of course,” said Lydia. “Thank you, Anuriel.”

Outside Mistveil Keep, Lydia grabbed Elspeth’s arm suddenly.  “I think we should take false names.  Like you did in Markarth.”  Her voice was uneasy.

“Okay,” she agreed.  “Trying to maintain the integrity of Balgruuf’s court?”

Lydia turned and said, “Sure, why not?”

“If you want to wait in the room while I talk to this Brynjolf, I don’t mind.”

But Lydia wouldn’t hear of it.  Ever since Markarth and Elspeth’s encounter with Ondolemar, Lydia had been wrecked with guilt for not being closer, not helping.  And she also felt terrible about Northwatch Keep, despite the fact that Elspeth probably would have knocked her out cold had she tried to go along on that one.   Regardless, she wasn’t leaving Elspeth alone, not again.

“So, you’ll be Anya and I’ll be….” Lydia paused and thought for a moment.

“Runa!” suggested Elspeth, excitedly.

“No,” Lydia shook her head, her tone suggesting that her aunt’s name was out of the question.  “I’ll use Miriam.  That was my maternal grandmother’s name.  She was fierce, a warrior and an adventurer.”

And so, Anya and Miriam made their way back to the Bee and Barb.  It was crowded and they pushed through the throng of people, looking for a place to sit.  Lydia had walked ahead to grab an empty table toward the back, when Elspeth heard someone from back by the door.

“Elspeth!  Elspeth Aurilie!”

So much for my false name, she thought.  She turned around to see where the voice was coming from.  There were several rather large Nords standing in her way.  She looked back to check for Lydia and when turned and looked for the voice again she was yanked into a tight, shoulder-crushing embrace, her face awkwardly squashed into someone’s burnt orange mage’s robe.

“Oh my gods, you’re alive.”

“argmph,” she grunted as she tried to wrestle herself away.  Before she could, however, she was pushed back and held at arm’s length by—

“Marcurio?  What are you doing here?”  Elspeth couldn’t even recall the last time she’d seen the Imperial mage who now stood before her, dumbfounded.

“What are YOU doing here?  Why aren’t you dead?”  Elspeth raised her eyebrows at him, but before she could ask what on Nirn he was talking about, he continued.  “You were still at Arcane when…weren’t you?”  He continued to look at her in disbelief.

“Oh,” she said slowly.  “I was…in the city when it happened,” she explained, somewhat touched by his concern.  Marcurio was a highly skilled destruction mage, and the year their studies overlapped at the university was one of fierce competition and rivalry.

He went to respond but was interrupted by Lydia.  “I found us a table,” she said as she pushed her way back to Elspeth.  “Who is this?”

“Hello,” he said, immediately straightening himself and replacing his look of concern and incredulity with his more typical look exaggerated self-assurance.  “I’m Marcurio.”  He put out his hand, which Lydia took.

“I’m Miriam,” she said; her pseudonym sounded forced and false, but he didn’t seem to notice.  “You two know each other?

“Are you kidding!” exclaimed Elspeth, her tone clearly one of mockery. “Marcurio was once the finest destruction apprentice at Arcane University.”

“Oh,” said Lydia as she pulled her hand back and crossed her arms across her chest.  “What changed?”

Elspeth waved her hand and Marcurio scowled.  “Yep,” he said.  “Elspeth showed up.  I left Arcane when I realized that they had nothing left to teach me and I work here now.  People hire me to keep them alive.  I mean, why settle for just stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive in a gout of arcane fire?”  He locked his eyes seductively to Lydia’s.

Elspeth rolled her eyes, but Lydia nodded along in attempt to humor the mage.  Finally, Elspeth said, “It was, ah,  _nice_  to see you Marcurio.  But we have business here.  If you’ll excuse us—”

But Marcurio ignored her in favor of holding Lydia’s attention by continuing his spiel.  “So,” he said, “if there is anything I can do for you—or, more to the point, to you….”

“Can you hammer a six inch spike through a board with your penis?” asked Lydia, while Elspeth chuckled.  Gods, she loved Lydia’s bawdy side.

“Not right now,” he said, his face as deadpan as hers.

“Girl’s gotta have her standards,” she said as she slung her arm through Elspeth’s bent elbow and led her to a table in the back.

Elspeth leaned in to her.  “You know he’s going to follow us everywhere now, don’t you?”

She looked back and, indeed, Marcurio appeared to be following them.  “Meh,” she said.  “He’s cute.  I’ll just keep him in my armor pocket and feed him taffy treats and aim him toward bandits every now and then to make him feel useful.”

They sat at the table and Lydia brought them drinks.  Marcurio happily accepted the Black Briar mead Lydia placed in front of him.

For the love of Talos, Elspeth thought.  Marcurio didn’t drink mead if there was brandy available.  Either he has fully assimilated up here or he was actually trying to endear himself to Lydia.  She shook her head and scanned the room, stopping to look at the tall ginger standing against the far wall.

“I think that’s him,” she said to Lydia, who needed in agreement.

Marcurio choked on his mead.  “You’re here to see Brynjolf?” he sputtered.  “Well,” he said as Elspeth nodded.  He swallowed the rest of his drink and placed his tankard firmly on the table.  “It was very nice to see you.  Thank you for the mead, Miriam.  I wish you well in your endeavors.”  Then he stood up and turned, walking briskly away from the table as the women looked on, somewhat relieved but also a little perplexed by his sudden departure.

“That doesn’t bode well,” said Lydia.

Elspeth shrugged it off.  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in Marcurio’s impression of another man.”  She took a deep breath and walked over to the nicely dressed ginger.  Although, upon closer inspection, she observed that while the clothes were very nice, there was something that made them ill-suited to his frame.

“Are you Brynjolf?” she asked.

He lowered his eyes, looking her over quickly.  “I am,” he said.  “What can I do for you, lass?”

His brogue was warm and sweet.  Lass, she thought.  I bet that melts all girls’ hearts.  “I was told that you might have some information I need.”

“Oh, you were now.” He raised his eyebrows at her.  “And who told you that?”

“I was asked not to say.”  She looked at him intently.  She was surprised at how little he intimidated her.  It seemed the incident with Ondolemar had endowed her with confidence for dealing with people she might have otherwise found dubious.   Or maybe it was the brogue.

“Well, any information I have isn’t going to come cheap.”

“I can pay you.”  Elspeth tried to sound convincing, but Brynjolf shook his head.

“I doubt you can afford my prices lass,” he said.  “But we might be able to work something out.”  He gestured back toward the table where Lydia was waiting.  “Let’s sit.”

Lydia regarded him somewhat rigidly when he sat down, but as soon as she heard that sweet brogue, Elspeth could practically feel her knees weaken under the table.  She told Brynjolf what she was looking for and in return, he proposed a simple job.  All she needed to do was steal a ring from one of Riften’s merchants and plant it on another.  Elspeth nodded along as Brynjolf relayed the details of the crime.

“Wait!” interjected Lydia.  “You aren’t seriously considering this, are you?”  She didn’t understand why a simple bribe wasn’t sufficient.

“As a matter of fact….”

“You’re not a thief,” she protested.

“Well, I’m no doxy either,” she said.  “But you know how that almost went down.”  She looked at Brynjolf who was now regarding her with wide-eyed curiosity.  “I didn’t sleep with him!”

“You’ll get no judgment from me lass,” he reassured her.  Brynjolf was intrigued.   Well, the Breton intrigued him.  The Nord just seemed uptight.

“Besides,” Elspeth continued, “I  _am_  a thief.”

“Oh Elspeth,” she said, trying to be encouraging,  “Stealing something doesn’t make you a thief.”

“Actually lass—”

Elspeth put her hand up and leaned over to Lydia.  “Look, I know what you’re trying to do but I just have to do this.  You can stay here while I take care of it.  I really don’t mind.”

Lydia looked back over at Brynjolf and shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “You’re right…it’s fine.”

Elspeth made the final arrangements and found Brynjolf in the market the next morning.

She wandered around a bit and then on his signal, walked along the far edge of the market.  As soon as she heard, “But don’t listen to me, here is Miriam, who came all the way from Markarth to buy more Falmer Blood Elixir,” she moved.

Poor Lydia, she thought as she sidled up behind Madesi’s stall.  The Argonian was plenty distracted and it took mere seconds to extract the ring from his locked cabinet.  The next step, planting the ring on another merchant, Brand-Shei, proved to be slightly more difficult.  She approached him slowly, quietly.  While she waited for the guard behind her to leave she wondered if there was a way to write a reverse Clairvoyance spell.  Instead of detecting things, you could detect if you were being detected.   Maybe in your mind you could see an eye that would open and shut as you were detected and hidden.

Elspeth was so distracted by her brilliant reverse Clairvoyance spell idea that she nearly missed the perfect opportunity to drop the ring in Brand-Shei’s tunic as he turned away, craning his neck to look to the other side of the market.  But she caught him just before he turned back, and her movements mimicked that of anyone who might brush past someone, lightly patting his arm when passing through tight quarters.

Brynjolf smiled at her when she returned.  “Meet me in the Ragged Flagon in the Ratway tonight,” he instructed.

Later that evening as they strolled down the wooden steps to the level below the main market place, Elspeth observed that Lydia’s manner had gone beyond nervous apprehension.  She was twitchy.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

But Lydia didn’t answer.  As they came by the entrance of the Ratway, she turned to Elspeth and asked, “Do you have that hood Collette gave me before we left the college?”

“Sure,” said Elspeth, as she rooted around in her satchel.  She pulled out the folded hood and handed it over.  “What do you need that for?”

“If it’s terribly dark in there, I want to light a magelight and not have it burn out in two seconds.”

“It’s a restoration hood,” said Elspeth.

“Maybe it will be drafty.  Does it really matter?”  Lydia tugged the hood onto her head and looked away.  Elspeth shook her curtness off—she had given Lydia many opportunities to sit this one.  She would deal with her friend’s anxiety later.

The Ratway was disgusting.  It reeked of every rot possible and the women nearly added to the stench of vomit every time they turned a corner and the odor of a new combination of rancid corpse, bodily fluids, and rotted food hit them in the face.  To make matters worse, they kept getting lost and it was a good hour before they came upon the Ragged Flagon.

The tavern was somewhat more tolerable—it didn’t smell quite as bad anyway.  Brynjolf waved them over when he spotted them talking to Dirge, a burly and mean-looking Nord with what Elspeth described later as “epic chops.”  Elspeth was pleased to see Brynjolf in armor; it was a look more suited to him.

“Well lass,” he said as the women joined him at the table.  “I did a little poking around.   The information you’re looking for?  It’s a lot more valuable than you let on.”

“Okay,” she said.  “What do you want?”

Brynjolf looked past the women and gestured for two other individuals to join them.  “Elspeth and Miriam,” he began.  “This is Delvin Mallory and Vex.  They have jobs for you.  Apparently, members of the guild have become a little too recognized to accomplish much of anything around town.   You finish these Riften jobs successfully and I’ll get your information for you.”

Elspeth braced herself for Lydia’s protest, but she just sat at the table looking around nervously.  Delvin leaned forward and sized Elspeth up and down.  “Brynjolf tells me you’re quite the little pick pocket but that you friend claims you’re not a thief.  Said you planted that ring on Brand-Shei just as easily as you’d scratch your own head.  So where’d you learn to pilfer like that?”

She cleared her throat and paused.  Finally, she said, “I trained a bit back in Cyrodill…with Ciro Renate.”

Vex who had looked mostly disinterested, now turned her full attention to Elspeth.  “Ciro Renate,” she said.  “From Imperial City?”

Delvin scowled, first at Brynjolf and then at Elspeth.  “I don’t believe you.  If you trained with him, how is it you’re not a thief?”

She expected as much.  “My mentor had some…connections you could say.  She arranged for me to train with him and then practice around town with her.  She paid him herself.  He didn’t take what I’d stolen.”

Lydia looked up suddenly.  “Xeri just let you pickpocket people all around the city?”

Elspeth took a deep breath.  “Yes, well I would steal while she watched and then she would, you know, catch me and have me return what I’d stolen and apologize to the mark.”  She looked down.  Those were some of her most humiliating memories.  It was probably the right thing to do, but there were few kind words for a child caught pick pocketing in Imperial City.  Though, with Xeri there she was probably spared a few smacks upside the head.

When she looked back at the thieves they were staring at her, lips pursed.  Finally, Vex let out a snort.  Brynjolf put his shaking head in his hand and Delvin simply burst out laughing.  “Oh pet” he said.  “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” said Brynjolf.  “You’re not going to return what you steal for us.  And, you’re not going to get caught.”

“Wait,” said Elspeth.  “I have one condition.”

“You’re not really in a position to be setting conditions,” said Vex sternly.

“I won’t steal an amulet of the Divines,” she said firmly, swallowing against the tightness that was growing in her throat.  “Especially not Talos.”  Her voice was raw now.

Vex and Delvin looked a bit confused though Brynjolf’s face softened a little.  “Don’t worry lass,” he assured her.  “We don’t deal in that sort of thing.”

*********

For four days, Elspeth and Lydia slunk around Riften.  Elspeth found the thrill of stealing to be exhilarating exactly once.  After that, she found the waiting and the sneaking and the sliding in and out of the shadows rather tedious.  They only nearly botched one—a numbers job at Haelga’s Bunkhouse—which Lydia miraculously salvaged when she distracted Haelga by asking her for “work” and talked with her just long enough for Elspeth to finish adjusting the business ledger.

Back at the Flagon, even Vex reluctantly admitted that she was impressed.  “They’ll know we’re back in business in Riften now.  I hope you’ll consider joining our ranks pet,” Delvin said to Elspeth, before he and Vex went back to their business.

“Stay here just a moment,” said Byrnjolf, as he exited to the back.

Lydia seemed more at ease.  Elspeth, now closer to Nerussa than ever, was the one feeling a bit twitchy.  She looked around the tavern some more.  No one paid them much attention, which was probably a good thing.  Feeling the need to do something with her hands, she grabbed a book sitting on the barrel behind her chair.

“Shadowmarks?” she said, as she paged through the book.  It was a book of symbols that were unfamiliar to her—until she got to one, a circle with a square inside labeled, “Empty.”  “Ly—Miriam,” she said.   “This is the mark on Breezehome, by the door.”  She turned the book toward Lydia, who recognized the symbol but looked utterly perplexed otherwise.

“That mark has been there for years,” said Lydia.  “I just thought it was the result of some late-night prank or dare.”

Elspeth turned to the explanation in the book, but before she could read it, Brynjolf was back and beckoning them to follow.  He led them through a storage closet and into an enormous open room atop what appeared to be Riften’s underground reservoir.  The Cistern.  There was flooring and pathways over the water with sleeping, storage, cooking, and training areas.  It was an interesting setup, all things considered.  Elspeth looked over at Lydia who had put the hood back on and was now walking a bit stiffly, her eyes lowered and scanning the room constantly.

“Are you sure I can’t entice you to join us lass?” asked Brynjolf as they made their way across one of the pathways running down the center of the room.  “You could join me at a Thalmor Embassy party next week. I can’t imagine you’d feel all that bad stealing from them.”

Elspeth cringed inwardly at the thought of an embassy full of Justiciars, but smiled and shook her head.  “It’s tempting, but I’ll never set foot in there.  And you wouldn’t want me too either.”

They approached a desk in the far corner.  “Mercer,” said Brynjolf, nodding toward the man leaning over the desk.   He looked up and sneered.  “I hear you took care of some work; the guild offers its thanks,” he said, though his tone was a bit scornful.

I don’t want your thanks, thought Elspeth.  I want to know where I can find this off-the-record property.  Mercer started thumbing through some ledgers on the desk and Brynjolf nodded at her reassuringly.

From the other end of the room came the grating sound of a heavy door closing and voices chatting. Brynjolf looked over.   “Rune!” he called, which caused Lydia to stiffen and hold her breath.  When Elspeth checked, she was looking down and away.  Mercer studied Lydia suspiciously while Brynjolf kept trying to get his associate’s attention.  “Rune, come use your Emperor’s Voice to convince this lass to join us.”

Rune came up beside Brynjolf and Elspeth liked him immediately.  Apart from his heavily pocketed armor, he didn’t look like a thief at all.  He had a broad, warm smile and the third sweetest face in all of Skyrim.  Were it not for Onmund, this Imperial could probably have convinced Elspeth to do just about anything.  “This is Elspeth,” said Brynjolf.  “She took care of most of our local jobs this week.  And that’s her friend, Miriam.”

Rune moved closer to say hello and Lydia just barely looked out from her hood, biting her lip and keeping her chin down.  When Rune saw her, his face fell—all traces of its sweetness replaced with dread—and he looked back at Brynjolf, his lip twitching.  “Brynjolf!” he said, “That’s…that’s Lydia!”

Elspeth looked at Lydia who was now staring at Rune, her face pale and emotionless.  Brynjolf’s face, on the other hand, was a shade just slightly redder than his hair.  Elspeth knew she had to act quickly and she lunged toward Mercer, attempting to grab the ledger with the information she so desperately needed.  All she managed to do, however, was tumble and smack her elbow on Mercer’s desk as he snatched it away from her.

No one was paying attention to her, however.  When she looked up from the side of the desk where she had stumbled, everyone was staring at Lydia.

“LYDIA?!?” Brynjolf’s  voice filled with a fury unlike any Elspeth had ever heard, and was at a loss for words apart from “SHOR’S BALLS!” which echoed throughout the Cistern.


	38. I'll Met in Riften: Part I

Lydia was up and eating breakfast at the long table in Dragonsreach when Jarl Balgruuf came down, bleary-eyed and tired.   Why did he think that sneaking out to the Bannered Mare was a good idea last night?  It was never a good idea and yet, he did it anyway.  At least once a week.  He shook his head and focused on Lydia.  Her cheerfulness was apparent and although the contrast between his weariness and her energy was evident, Balgruuf was very pleased to his young housecarl in such good spirits.  It had been awhile.

“Good morning Lydia,” he said, taking a seat next to her.  “Are you ready for your trip?”

“I am my lord,” she replied.  “I am meeting Nabirye at the stables in an hour.  I only stopped by to see if there was any other business I should attend to while I am there.”

“Of course.”  He rubbed his forehead and thought for a moment.  “When you are finished with the needs of the temple, stop by Mistveil Keep and talk to Anuriel, Jarl Laila’s steward.  The Rift has had some problems, lots of bandits and such.  Offer your services.”

“I will,” she replied, smiling.

“You seem awfully happy to be leaving,” he said.  “Is life in my court really so dreadful?”

She would never admit it to Balgruuf, but she was happy to be leaving Whiterun for a spell.  But more important, this was her first official assignment as a housecarl and for that she was most excited.

“I am just happy to have a task,” she said.  “I want to be useful to you and to the hold.”

Balgruuf laughed affectionately.  “There is one other thing…” he began.  Lydia had been so serious lately, so focused and determined.  He wanted her to know she didn’t have to be, but expressing such sentiments in the confines of Dragonsreach seemed presumptuous if not inappropriate.

“What is it my lord?”

He took a deep breath and leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.  “The priest in Riften, Maramal, is a very, shall we say, moral individual.  He will talk endlessly with you about the blessings of Mara and it can be rather comforting.  But don’t take everything he says to heart, particularly about the city.  Riften is corrupt and there is lots of trouble to be made.  But for someone with a good head on her shoulders such as yours, it can be a lot of fun.  Before you come home, make sure you stop by the Black-Briar meadery and the tavern.  Or just talk a walk around Lake Honrich.  The Rift can be rather nice this time of year.”

She was a bit surprised by this directive although she probably shouldn’t have been.  Jarl Balgruuf had always taken an interest in her personal well being, ever since her mother died.  “I will do that,” she agreed.

“Good,” he said as he turned to the breakfast that his servant, Gerda, laid in front of him.  Just as he started eating, Proventus, his steward, approached them with a stack of letters and papers, which he dropped on the table, nearly knocking Lydia’s tea over.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” he said as he rifled through his papers.  Finally, he took out several and folded them into a stack together.  “Lydia, would you mind taking these missives over to Jorrvaskr on your way out this morning?”

Lydia paused for a moment; she had been avoiding the Companion’s mead hall for over a month now.  Before she could say anything, however, Balgruuf cleared his throat.  “Don’t bother Lydia with such tasks.  We’ll have someone send it over later.”

Proventus looked perplexed. “But she’ll be walking right by.”

“Proventus…” said Balgruuf quietly, but sternly as he narrowed his eyes at his puzzled steward.

 _Oh my gods, does Balgruuf know too?_   Lydia’s stomach lurched and her face flushed at the thought.  She sat up immediately.  “I’ll be happy to bring them over,” she said and took the missives from him.

She left Dragonsreach, clutching the missives nervously.  She walked slowly down the stairs and when she reached Jorrvaskr, she took several deep breaths before going inside.  The last time she was here she had come to see Vilkas, to confess feelings for him that she had been harboring for a long time.  She had been training with him for years and they had grown quite close.  Or so she thought.  When he didn’t reciprocate, she was devastated.  But she would have been simply heartbroken if that bitch Njada hadn’t been eavesdropping and told the entire drunken mead hall what she’d just heard—or rather, her version of it, which made Lydia seem far more pathetic and needy than she might have otherwise.  It had been utterly humiliating.

The mead hall was empty but for their maid Tilma, who smiled warmly at her, and Farkas, Vilkas’s twin brother.

“Lydia!” he said, his tone somehow both excited and uneasy.  “I was starting to wonder if we’d ever see you again.”

“Yeah…” she said, not quite certain how to respond.   “I just came to bring these over.”  She held Proventus’s missives out, which Farkas took.  There was a long pause in which they stood there just staring at each other awkwardly until they were interrupted by the sounds of the back doors opening and people entering the room.   Lydia didn’t wait to see who was there.  “I need to leave,” she said, as she opened the door and stepped out.

“Wait,” said Farkas as he followed her outside, bringing the awkward silence with him.

“Farkas,” she said finally.  “I really do have to go.  I’m accompanying a priestess and I need to meet her in a couple of minutes.”

He took a deep breath.  “When you come back, let’s find a grove and hunt.  Like we did when we were kids and would leave everyone else behind.”  Lydia was touched by this gesture.  Farkas was making a genuine effort to be a friend to her.  They were close when Lydia was young. Farkas took her under his wing, teaching her to hunt and track.  However, as Farkas’ attention was taken up by more and more by women closer to his age, they grew apart. They stopped doing things on their own, keeping their social interactions within the confines of Jorrvaskr and the Bannered Mare.

Lydia nodded and grinned.  “Okay,” she said as she turned and left, feeling a little less anxious as she bounced down the steps and across Whiterun to the stables.

Nabirye, the Altmer priestess, was waiting.  She had one final task to complete before she would be fully ordained in the service of Mara.  The completion of her last task had brought her to Whiterun and Lydia was to accompany her, first to Gjukar’s Monument and then to the temple in Riften.   They set out immediately by horse.  Lydia would have preferred to save some time and ride over the tundra, but Nabirye was ill prepared for what they would meet there and the road was safer.

It was late when they arrived at the monument.  They set up camp off the road and built a small fire.  As the night wore on, Lydia grew bored and tired and it was a couple of hours after midnight when Nabirye grabbed her arm and said, “She’s here!”

Lydia looked up and saw a ghostly apparition by the monument.  “Who is that?” she asked.

“That’s Ruki.  I’ve been sent her to reunite her with her hjarta, Fenrig,” she explained.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Lydia followed Nabirye across the grass to the monument, where she approached the apparition.

“What are you doing here?” asked Nabirye of the specter.

“I’m searching for my Fenrig.  He was marching with Gjukar’s men, who say they were wiped out here.”  The apparition’s voice had an ethereal quality and it echoed in Lydia’s head.  “I’ve turned over every body though and I can’t find him.”

Lydia looked around.  There were no bodies.  She thinks it’s the war, she realized.  For some reason, the notion of Ruki being stuck in time made her really uncomfortable although she wasn’t sure why.

“Please help me look.” Ruki continued talking to Nabirye.  “He has a bright red beard and hair.”

Lydia looked at Ruki and said, “The last war was here hundreds of years ago.”  She was trying to be matter-of-fact but her uneasiness was obvious.

“Are you a fool?”  The ethereal voice responded sharply.  “Look at all the bodies around you.  Even if you’re blind, surely you smell the blood!”

“Lydia,” said Nabirye, touching her arm.  “Let me take of this, please.”

She nodded apologetically and Nabirye returned to Ruki.  “We will help you find him,” she assured her.  She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.  “Divine Mara, mother goddess, handmaiden of Kyne, on this eve I ask that you gift me with your wisdom, and lead me to the path between two souls so that I might renew a bond that has been severed by darkness and violence.”  When she opened her eyes, she looked past Lydia and started walking briskly not looking around and not straying from her path.

About a mile away, in a small clearing behind a cluster of rocks, they came upon another apparition.  It was Fenrig.  Nabirye approached him.  “You’re wife is looking for you,” she said.

“Ruki,” he said.  “Where is she?”  His voice was deep and had the same ethereal quality.

“West, in the plains over in the distance,” replied Nabirye, gesturing back toward the path from which they came.

“We’re expected to fight there tomorrow. Gjukar elected to camp here tonight.  I don’t like it thought.”  The echo of his voice was tinged with trepidation and dismay.

“Come,” said Nabirye, her voice was calming.  “Let me take you to Ruki.”

“If she’s come this far from home, it must be important,” he agreed.  “Lead on.  I just need to report to camp by sunrise.”

Fenrig’s apparition followed Lydia and Nabirye back to the monument where Ruki was still moving around as if she were looking for him.  Lydia leaned over and whispered in Nabirye’s ear, “They appear to be trapped in the same moment in time.  Maybe this will work out for them after all.”

Fenrig approached his wife.  “What are you doing here, Ruki?” he asked, there was still fear in his echoing voice, but also adoration

“I’m came here to find you,” she replied.  “They said that Gjukar’s men were wiped out here.  But I can’t find you!  I can’t find you among the bodies.”

“We haven’t fought yet….”

“But the bodies!” she exclaimed.  “And the blood!  Can’t you smell the blood.”

This went on for several moments and feelings of dread filled Lydia’s heart as she listened to the couple talking past each other, their ghostly voices tinged with sadness and confusion and terror.  She grabbed Nabirye’s arm.  “They aren’t trapped in the same moment in time.  They are still apart.  You’ve got to do something.”

Nabirye took Lydia’s hand in hers.  “Just wait,” she whispered and gestured back toward the couple.  They were still talking, but their words were becoming unintelligible.  “Look!” she exclaimed quietly.

Lydia looked on as the apparitions began to lift up into the air, higher and higher.  She gasped and didn’t take her eyes away until she couldn’t distinguish the two rising spirits from the stars in the sky.

“What happened?” asked Lydia, almost breathlessly.

Nabirye smiled and patted her hand.  “They’ve gone on to the immortal plane.”  She turned and walked away from Lydia who was still staring into the sky.

“Wait a minute!” Lydia darted after the priestess.  “Wait…if he’s a warrior, he’ll go to the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde.  And she’ll go to Kyne’s fields and they’ll be separated again.  Did you bring them together just to pull them apart?”

Nabirye turned and gestured for Lydia to sit with her.  “Their souls will rest where they are meant to.”

Lydia sat down beside her.  “So, what happened tonight then?”

“A bond that was severed was mended,” she explained but Lydia still looked confused.  “Lydia, love is a journey and all journeys end.  What happens in the Aetherial plane is for other gods to decide.  If they are separated, they will rest with the peace of having completed their journey together.”  She smiled warmly.  “That is the work of Mara’s divine loving grace.”

Lydia looked down at her lap.  She wanted to understand what she saw, and also what how people like Ruki and Fenrig found each other in life.  She had so many questions, but she didn’t know where to begin.  Nabirye had been so calm and unassuming on their journey and on her quest—well, she was still calm and unassuming, but she prayed and she was filled with a power and strength and wisdom unlike any Lydia had ever seen.  It was magical and yet, there was something rather ordinary about it.

“You’ve been hurt recently?” she asked.

She looked up suddenly.  “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” she said letting out a quiet laugh.  “You’re at that age, there’s always a chance.  What happened?”

“He was a friend,” she replied.  “He paid more attention to me than other women.  We were very focused on training though.”  She thought back to all the work they had done together.  When they sparred or when he helped her adjust her fighting stance, she resisted the shudders his touch sent across her skin as well as the ache in her gutthat watching him fight often inspired.  She was always proficient and focused, and perhaps that was the problem.  She continued, “Now, I think maybe in my desire to impress him as warrior, I failed to impress him as a woman.”

“What did you want from him?”  Nabirye’s face was full of compassion.  She was the kind of woman you wanted to open your soul to, perfectly suited as a priestess of Mara.

Lydia swallowed against the lump that was growing in her throat.  Although the emotions were raw, the words were forthcoming.  “I wanted him to let me get close to him.  To break through that tough scowling guise.  That’s all.”

“That’s all?” she asked.  “When you say it like that, it makes love sound like a task, not a journey.  Didn’t you want him to love you?”

This question surprised her and she wasn’t quite certain how to respond.  “Yes…I guess so,” she stammered.  She scrunched her forehead and shook her head although it made perfect sense.  For so long she had only seen Vilkas in terms of  _letting her love him_  that she forgot that she also wanted to be loved.  For someone to take her heart into his own.

“What you need to do,” she advised, “is open your heart to the possibility of love.  Mara will guide you, but you need to let her.  And as you do that, you open yourself to the experience of—”

“Two souls coming together?”  Lydia’s voice had risen just a bit.

Nabirye grinned at Lydia’s uplifted mood.  “Souls,” she agreed and then added, a bit nonchalantly, “And other things.”

She winked at Lydia who felt flutters in her belly and a warm rush of blood rise in her face.  She let out a deep breath.  Yes, she thought.  She wanted those other things too, very much so.

Nabirye said good night and Lydia lay down on her bedroll, thinking about Vilkas.  It still hurt, but it no longer wrenched her heart in the worst possible way.  Perhaps she was starting to move on from the acute pain brought by rejection and humiliation to a dull ache that would be soothed with time.


	39. Ill Met in Riften: Part II

**The following chapter contains poorly written depictions of romantic sexuality that may not be appropriate for readers under the age of sixteen.  Or anyone, really.**

Lydia’s mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Vilkas, Ruki and Fenrig, and Mara several days later as she lay in bed in the Temple in Riften.  She ran her fingers around the Amulet of Mara that hung from her neck, a gift from Maramal for bringing Nabirye to him.  She had retired immediately after dinner so that she wouldn’t have to endure another tirade about the corruption in Riften from Maramal.  Now, she was restless.  She needed to leave and go for a walk and so she threw on her boots and clothing and left quietly, practically sneaking out.

Outside, she scanned the city from the temple landing.  The market stalls were still open and the market was fairly crowded.  She walked across the landing and down to the cemetery, where she inspected the large monument with a single stone coffin.  Up behind Mistveil Keep she found a shrine to Talos on which she left a couple of septims.  The air was balmy and breezy, which was nice.  But the subtle smell of fish and fermented honey that permeated the air in Riften was doing little to ease her mind.  As she wandered back, she wondered if it would be inappropriate to procure a bottle of mead to drink in her room.

Back in the graveyard, she encountered a young man standing by the monument.  She wondered if the monument belonged to his family—though he didn’t look like a Nord.

“Hello!” she said cheerfully.  He had a kind face and wore the most unusual armor she had ever seen.  It was leather with lots of pockets and satchels attached and looked like something a traveling apothecary might wear to keep his ingredients organized.  She held her hand out. “My name is Lydia.”

The man looked a bit startled at first, but smiled back and took her hand.  “Hi,” he replied. “Name’s Rune.  Yeah, rune…just like you’re thinking.”

“I like that name,” she said, barely noticing Rune’s expression of disbelief.  “It reminds me of Runa, which is my aunt’s name.  She lives in Bruma, where she takes care of a young ward whose parents died in a refugee camp.”  She paused and looked intently at him.  “Is this your family’s monument?”

“In a way, I guess….” Rune smirked.  She was pretty and friendly, which he liked.  Still, he wasn’t sure what to make of her.  Normally, he was talkative but she also seemed a bit precious.  For the first time since he could recall, he did not know how to respond and soon an awkward silence settled between them.  A few moments passed and as Rune went to excuse himself, a boisterous voice interrupted him.

“You just keep thinking Skwisgaar, that’s what you’re good at!”  The comment was punctuated by a chuckle and another man dressed in armor similar to Rune’s came over, shaking his head and muttering about milk-drinking guards.

“Hey Rune.”  He clapped his friend on the arm and stopped just short of entering the monument when he realized that they weren’t alone.  He turned around, took one look at Lydia and gasped.

“Is that an amulet of Mara?” he asked as he moved toward her.  His voice was deep, a bit like Vilkas’s.  But his stride and his mannerisms were far more relaxed.

“Here we go,” mumbled Rune.  “I’m going around.  It was nice meeting you Lydia.”

But Lydia wasn’t paying attention.  Her eyes were transfixed on the one who asked about the amulet.  She swallowed nervously.  “Yes,” she said, trying desperately to steady her voice.  He had dark, soulful eyes that contrasted with rough, unshaven stubble on his face.  She held her breath as he stepped up to her and ran his fingers gingerly along the edge of the amulet.  Never in her life had anyone been so forward with her and when the tip of his finger brushed against her skin, she shuddered.

“Hello,” he said, bringing his hand down. “I’m Vipir.  What’s your name?”

“Lydia,” she said.  She was still a bit nervous, but his voice had a quiet, calming quality.

“Good evening, Lydia.”  He cocked his head slightly.  “What are you doing out here?”

“Just wandering around,” she said.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I was thinking about going to the Bee and Barb for a tankard of mead.  But I didn’t want to go alone.”

“If I go with you, you won’t be alone,” he said.  He raised his eyes and pinched his mouth into grin that made her stomach flutter and her legs quiver.  When he offered her his arm, she didn’t quite believe he was that much of a gentleman.  Rather, his grin betrayed a subtle humor in engaging this type of ritual.  She giggled as she took his arm.

The Bee and Barb was crowded and the only seats available were the stools at the counter, where they sat and talked and drank for about four hours.  Lydia did most of the talking, while he interjected with quips and amusing anecdotes.  She couldn’t recall the last time she had laughed so much.  They would have annoyed the publican, but they kept their tankards full.  Vipir couldn’t believe how much she could drink.

“I grew up and trained with the Companions,” she explained.  “After so many games of You Drink, you build up a major tolerance.”

“You drink?”

“Farkas points to you says, You. Drink.”  She paused.  Her face was flushed and her eyelids were getting a little droopy.  “And then you drink.  Farkas doesn’t think cards and dice are straightforward enough.”  She looked down.  They had been facing each other, rather than the counter, for most of the night.  But she was just now noticing that their ankles were locked.  When did that happen?

Vipir laughed.  He could see that his new friend was becoming rather inebriated and offered to walk her back to the temple.  It wasn’t how he normally ended such an evening, but everything about Lydia seemed…different and he was struck by an inexplicable desire to take things slowly, which baffled him.  Maybe Rune was influencing him more than he realized.  Back at the temple, Maramal was waiting outside by the door, which made the question of whether or not kissing her good night would be appropriate an easy one to answer.  He said good night and offered the priest a courteous nod, hoping that he wouldn’t make things terribly uncomfortable for her.

*****

Lydia packed up her things and rented a room at the Bee and Barb the next morning.  She never intended to stay at the temple—preferring to keep business with the temple and business with the court separate.  She might have stayed at the Keep, but she was struck with an overwhelming desire for more privacy.  In any case, Maramal’s disapproving glare got her up and moving before breakfast.  It bothered her at first, but her feelings of embarrassment abated as her thoughts wandered to the previous night.  She had never met anyone like Vipir before.  Initially, he reminded her of Vilkas but that didn’t last.  Vipir was so laidback.  Grinning, she recalled how he lingered over his mead, hanging on her every word.  Lydia couldn’t remember the last time she’d held anyone’s attention like that.

After settling into her room, she walked over to the Keep.  Anuriel had plenty of work and her first task was to clear out a passel of bandits who had taken over Faldar’s Tooth, an old military fort on the northwest side of Lake Honrich.  On her way to replenish her supplies, she saw Vipir and Rune as she turned the corner along the Riften’s canal level.

“Vipir!” she called as her heart started pounding in her chest.

He looked up and was astonished.  The night before, he had been struck by how pretty she was.  Now, seeing her in a full set of Skyforge steel armor, he was in awe.  “Are you heading out somewhere?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m going to clear out Faldar’s Tooth for the Jarl,” she replied.  “Do you want to come?”

Vipir paused, not quite able to recall the last time he’d had a legit job.  “All right,” he said as Rune chuckled and shook his head.

After stocking up on potions from Elgrim’s Elixirs and arrows from the Scorched Hammer, they made their way out of town, taking the path along the lakeshore.  They walked slowly and talked, this time of more personal issues like friends and family.

“My mother died when I was eight,” he said.  “I never knew my father.”  He paused and thought about what he was going to say next.  “And I’m certain that my mother didn’t know my father either.”

His friend Tonila could never understand why he bothered telling women this.  Vipir maintained that it helped him gauge their character.  To which she replied that it really only helped keep them at a safe distance.  He walked along, bracing himself for the inevitable look of disgust.  If not that, then the flinch, the thinly disguised look of revulsion from those who wanted to believe they weren’t judgmental but really couldn’t help themselves.  Somehow, that was worse.  But Lydia simply looked at him as if he’d just said he preferred green apples to red, which made him feel a little more human.  His heart leapt.

And she was beautiful.  If they hadn’t come upon Faldar’s Tooth at that moment, he would have had her right there on the shore of Lake Honrich.  Lydia crouched to survey the perimeter of the old fort.  On the west side, they found an alcove with stairs leading up and a door going into the fort.  They went up the stairs and looked carefully over the outer walls.  There were several tents set up and bandits just sort of wandering about.

Vipir took out the closest bandits from behind, sneaking and then slicing them in the gut.  The ease with which he was able to creep around the tents, slipping in and out, took her breath away.  If she hadn’t been so determined to impress him with her own skill, such stealth might have distracted her.  When the bandits on the upper level of the fort spotted them, she took aim with her bow, snagging several in rapid succession.  Vipir charged ahead, finishing them off with his sword.

When he returned, he looted some keys from what appeared to be the bandit leader and also some gold, which gave Lydia pause.

“Oh,” said Vipir.  “Does looting the dead bother you?”  He stood back from the body and looked at her intently.

“I don’t know if it’s wrong,” she said.  “It just makes me uncomfortable.”

With any other person, Vipir would have rolled his eyes and laughed.  But Lydia seemed so sweet and so honest that he held his tongue.

“Well,” he said, holding up a few coins.  “I’ll use this to buy fish from Marise Aravel.  Bolli, who runs the fishery, will get a cut of that profit.  And Bolli is one of Riften’s most generous citizens, which means that some of this money will go to the Orphanage or the Temple.”

He held his breath, hoping his rationalization worked.  If she had a problem with looting the dead, she was never going to understand his work with the guild.  However, after a few moments, she smiled and said, “I never thought of it that way.  It makes a lot of sense.”

They took the keys and unlocked the lower part of the fort, which turned out to be a series of sunken, flooded tunnels.  They moved slowly, ducking through the shadows, attacking and killing bandits one by one.  Lydia continued to admire Vipir’s stealth and swiftness, while he was astounded by her strength and control.

The tunnels led them to a prison area where the bandits were holding vicious pit wolves and in the large room at the very end of the keep, she came upon a large caged ring covered in blood and holding the bodies of two pit wolves.   It was a gambling den and the game was pit wolf fighting.  Lydia gasped.  Nature was cruel and brutal and the sight of dead animals didn’t bother her, but she was sickened by the thought of using such brutality as entertainment.

Vipir found her there, looking sorrowfully at the cage.  She was quiet toward him, not certain if she wanted to admit such feelings—although they were clear from her face.  He wasn’t a huge fan of this type of entertainment, but it didn’t bother him nearly as much.  Yet, when he saw how distressed she was, he found it so endearing it hurt.  He stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close to him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly and turned her around, smiling as her hair brushed by his cheek.

“What’s in there?” she asked, gesturing toward a locked cage bolted to the wall.

“That’s probably where bets were placed.” Vipir sauntered over and picked the lock.  “Oh my gods,” he gasped as he opened the door and entered.

“What is it?” She sidled up behind him and not so subtly grabbed his arm as she peered over his shoulder.

Inside the betting cage was an abundance of coin, gems, and jewelry.  It had been a very long time since he had ever that much wealth in one place.  “Please don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable taking this,” he said.

“Not at all,” she said.  Vipir was looking at her; his dark eyes had turned mischievous, which made her stomach flutter and twinge in eager anticipation.

After clearing the cage, they hurried back outside, where it had grown dark.  Vipir lit a torch and followed Lydia, who, rather than turning out of the fort to leave, walked toward the camping area.  She passed all the tents on the lower walls and made her way up the tallest tower, where she found the bandit chief’s quarters, which had a bed and also shelves and a desk.

Lydia wanted to spend more time with Vipir, but asking him to come back to the Bee and Barb felt awkward.  The tower living quarters gave her an idea and she whipped around, her eyes bright and excited.  “Let’s camp here,” she suggested.

Vipir grinned. “Okay,” he agreed as he removed his weapons and placed them on the desk.   After she’d done the same, she moved closer to him in a manner that was both anxious and eager.

On this excursion, he had hoped just to kiss her.  But within moments of touching his lips to hers, she was tugging at his armor.  Pushing him back a little, she removed her cuirass, her boots, and bracers, letting the metal crash to the floor.  She looked at him playfully as he marveled at her figure.  He knew from watching her fight that she was strong, but seeing the hard muscles of her stomach and arms against her soft, pale skin was like a revelation.  He removed his armor and leaned back on the bed, bringing her with him.  She straddled his hips and pressed her mouth down hard, her tongue eagerly searching for his, while he moved his hands over the arcs of her hips, up to the tops of her breasts, and then back down, exploring every curve, every line.

As she eased herself downward, he removed her underclothes and rolled her onto her back, letting his lips leave hers for mere seconds.  He lowered his mouth, gently biting her neck.  Lydia moaned softly while his eager mouth wandered down exploring and sucking the skin on her breasts, her belly—until he got to the sweetest part of her.  Soon her soft moans gave way to louder groans and cries.  He took his time, gently touching her with those intimate kisses and massaging the insides of her thighs and her belly with his strong hands.

He waited until he felt her tugging him upward and then he pulled himself forward, sliding his body to align with hers, drawing her into his arms and readying himself to take her.  But as he moved up against her, he saw her face contort from excitement to trepidation.  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, moving wisps of hair out of her face.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confessed.

Vipir didn’t need to ask if she was  _sure about this_.  Even as her face betrayed her anxiety, her hands and legs were pulling him toward her. “It might hurt,” he warned, gently kissing her ear.  “I’ll go slow.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, the look of eagerness returning to her face.

He kissed her neck and chest as he nudged her thighs open and gently edged into her, listening to her breathing softly through nervous trembling lips.  When he pushed through her tightness, she let out a choked cry as the shock of pleasure mixed with pain vibrated through her.  He moved deliberately at first and with every thrust, she whimpered and cried, all the time pulling him closer, squeezing his back, and digging her fingernails into his skin.   And as her shrieks of pain yielded to shrieks of pleasure, he sped up, driving himself vigorously into her.   She twisted her limbs around his and arched her back, urging him deeper and deeper.

They became a tangled knot of skin and sweat as she writhed beneath him.  And when she almost couldn’t take anymore, he brought her to a long, hard climax, reaching heights of pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced or could have imagined.  And as her cries of bliss sounded through the trees, he couldn’t hold back any longer; he let go, his whole body shuddering as he grunted through clenched teeth.  Panting and gulping for air, he trembled above for mere moments before collapsing beside her.  They lay there together, exhausted, their muscles still quivering.  Vipir rolled on to his side and lightly ran his hand up along her abdomen and breasts sending chills across her skin before pulling her in for a long kiss.

“Are you okay?” he whispered when he pulled away, still touching her face with the tips of his fingers.”

“Gods, yes,” she said.  She was content.  As he wrapped his arms around her, she turned to him.  “I…I didn’t expect that this would happen so fast.”  Her contentment was giving way to some nervousness.  “I don’t know what happens next,” she admitted.

Vipir thought for a moment.  Other women he’d lain with understood he was available for little more than sex.  With Lydia, however, he wanted things to be different.  “Well…we can spend the time you’re in Riften together to see if we still like each other with our clothes on,” he said, as he pushed her hair out of her face.

Lydia sighed and as he gathered her back into his arms, they nestled down under bearskin cover the where they slept soundly, wrapped in each other’s arms.

The following morning, she woke to find him looking out across the lake, standing with his arms crossed behind his head, wearing only his boots.

“Good morning,” he said, grinning at her.

“Is it time to get dressed?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.  “I just took a quick run down through the camp, to see what kind of food they had.”

“In just your boots?”  Lydia was so taken with him, almost enchanted by his carefree nature and how comfortable he seemed in his own skin.

“Sure, why not?”  He took off his boots and crawled back under the bearskin with her.  “I seldom get to walk around naked at home.”  Vipir paused for a moment, trying to imagine the reaction in the Cistern. “The people I live with wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Where do you live?”

It was such basic question but one he hadn’t prepared himself for.  Vipir had never felt ashamed of the Cistern; the guild was his family.  But suddenly, it seemed inadequate although Lydia gave him no reason to think she would disapprove.  He took a deep breath and, when he realized that she would figure it out sooner or later, said, “There is space down in the Ratway.  Some of my associates and I stay down there…not in the Vaults or the Warrens, but back by the tavern down there.”  He hoped that would make it somehow more…upright.  Still, he cringed to himself a bit although as with everything else, she seemed unfazed.

After a few moments, she looked quizzically at him.  “Your associates?  What do you do?”  The night before he had mentioned being near Whiterun for work, but he never elaborated and she forgot to ask.

Now this was the question he was not willing to answer so readily.  While Lydia could look past the circumstances of his coming into the world and his residence within it, certainly a housecarl in the court of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater would not so easily look past his occupation.  He would keep it quiet, for now.

“Well, these days we take whatever jobs we can get.  But we have some steady clients.”  He paused for a moment before continuing.  “We deliver things to them safely, I guess you could say.”  He kissed her neck.  “Tell me about your work,” he said.  “I imagine being a housecarl is more than a simple occupation.  When do you get a Thane?”

Lydia sighed.  “I can’t imagine Balgruuf ever naming a Thane,” she said.  “I mean, his brother holds the title and uses it when he’s on court business.  But Balgruuf….” She paused.  Balgruuf always perplexed her.  On some issues, he was so casual.  And on others, he was so very rigid.  “He doesn’t really hold with electing Thanes just because they do good things for the hold—everyday things.  He jokes that Idgrod will appoint you Thane for chopping firewood. “  Lydia shook her head.  “No, he wants a hero and we don’t have too many heroes in Skyrim anymore.”

“So, you just sit around Dragonsreach and wait for work?”  He grinned inwardly.  Maybe their respective occupations were not so different after all.

“Whiterun gets a lot of missionaries and dignitaries because of its location.  They often ask for companions,” she explained.  “But yes, until there is work, I will train and study.  Balgruuf has always been rather informal with me with respect to my duties.  Some people think I should take advantage of that.  But I won’t.”

Vipir was impressed by her sense of duty.  However, it also made him uncomfortable.  They had just met, but he found his thoughts wandering and wondering where someone like him could possibly fit in such a life.  Soon the doubts that had plagued him his whole life were starting to creep around.  Not wanting to think about such things, he pulled her on top of him and quashed his worries in another fit of passionate lovemaking before they walked back to Riften.

They parted at Mistveil Keep and Vipir said he would find her at the Bee and Barb later.  Back in the Ragged Flagon, Vex teased him endlessly about his newfound job as the Jarl’s lackey and refused to shut up until he showed her how much coin he’d made.  He spent the rest of the day in the Cistern practicing archery and despairing over how he could possibly manage a love affair with a housecarl.  Later, Brynjolf came by with news of a huge heist in the planning stages.  As things in his head and heart were spinning, it was comforting to know that life in the guild was the same.

Several hours passed and, after extracting himself from an argument between Rune and Cynric about which of the men would make a better pirate, he made his way over to the Bee and Barb.  When he entered the tavern, he paused just inside the door.  She was chatting with some droopy-eyed Breton in shabby robes.  He stepped back, his heart sinking a bit until he saw her craning her neck as if she were eager for someone to arrive.   Gods, it was him.  She was waiting for him to arrive.  The notion actually surprised him and he was beaming as he walked over.  He was going to figure out how to make this—whatever this was meant to be—work.

“Hello,” he said, nodding to her new acquaintance after kissing her hello.  “I see you’re making friends.”

Lydia grinned and clutched his hand.  “I make friends everywhere I go,” she explained, gesturing toward the man.  “This is Sam.”

Sam regarded them both with an affable grin.  “You both look like you can hold your liquor.  How about a friendly contest to win a staff?”


	40. Ill Met in Riften: Part III

“Wake up! That’s right, it’s time to wake up you drunken blasphemer.”

Lydia’s head was pounding as she came around, confused and scared.  She had no idea where she was or what she had done.  All she knew was that the priestess in gold robes in front of her was livid and that she was in trouble.  Big trouble.

“Wha…what happened?  Where am I?” she asked, her voice was shaking.  Looking around, she could see that she was in a temple.  A rather messy temple—baskets and books and bottles were strewn everywhere.

“You are in the Temple of Dibella, in Markarth.  I’m guessing you don’t remember coming in here and blathering on about marriage or a goat.  Which means you don’t remember your friend losing his temper and throwing trash all over the place.”  Senna, the priestess, scowled.  “Who are you?”

Marriage?  Goat?  Markarth?  How did she get to Markarth? Lydia scrambled to her feet.  She gulped, but before she could respond, there was a crash from the other side of the temple and a man came staggering over.  It was Vipir.

“Allura!” he said.  “Oh my gods!  What did we do?”

Allura? What?  Lydia was bewildered but remained silent.  She would go along with his ruse for now.

He turned to the Senna to apologize.  “I am so sorry,” he said.  “We just got a little carried away with our friend last night.”  The priestess seemed unmoved, so he continued.  “My name is Sven and this is my wife, Allura.  I do want to apologize and make this right.  Perhaps if we cleaned the temple and made a generous donation?  Surely, Dibella would find it in her heart to forgive a simple night of debauchery.”

She continued to glower at the couple but after a few very uncomfortable moments agreed.  When she turned away, Vipir hooked his arm around Lydia’s waist. “What happened last night?” he whispered, his tone betraying a mix of confusion and amusement.  “Did we lose that drinking contest?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia’s voice was still shaking with anxiety.  “I just want to get out of here.”  She pulled away from him and immediately set about cleaning, her face red with shame and embarrassment.  She looked back at him as he put fallen barrels upright and her heart sunk a little.  Despite his affection just moments ago, she assumed he was terribly angry with her.  She couldn’t actually recall, but she was certain to have accepted the challenge for them.  She was always doing things like that—to prove she was just as capable as warriors like Vilkas and Farkas.  But that was always in the safe confines of the Bannered Mare or Jorrvaskr.

“I think we’re done here.”  Vipir sidled up behind her, which startled her.

“Vipir!” she said.  “I’m so sorry!”

Her face betrayed genuine sadness and regret, which caused Vipir to catch the laugh in his throat before he asked, “Whatever for?”

“For getting us into this…mess,” she said as she looked around the temple.

“Oh please,” he said as he put his arm around her.  “I’ve gotten in far worse messes.”  As they walked back toward the front of the temple, he handed her a note.  “Sam left this.  It looks like we gathered these ingredients to fix the staff.  I think we need to locate him figure out what is going on.”

“I don’t know,” she said.  She just wanted to go home and never touch another tankard of mead again.  “Although, we should probably find out if we trashed any other temples.”  She cringed at the thought, but it was the right thing to do.

From Senna, they learned that they had arrived last night with a friend.  They were all ranting and raving, and their voices were slurred but there was much chatter about having just arrived from Rorikstead.

Rorikstead was in Whiterun hold.  This made Lydia’s stomach lurch and she felt dizzy.  Vipir suggested going by horseback.  She was spun and just looked at him blankly, saying that she would defer to his judgment.  When he asked what was wrong, all she could do was shake her head.

Lydia spent the entire ride out of Markarth hyperventilating, while Vipir held her upright and tried to comfort her.  All attempts at consolation, however, were futile.  When they arrived in the small farming town they had barely dismounted from their horse when Ennis, a local farmer, confronted them.

“You two!  You both have a lot of nerve showing up in this town again!  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Lydia simply couldn’t speak, so Vipir took charge, attempting to simultaneously apologize and extract some information from the angry farmer.

“Sorry’s not good enough!  Not while my Gleda is still out there, alone and afraid.  You kidnapped her and sold her to that Giant!”

“What!” Lydia gasped, steadying herself against Vipir.

“What if we were to pay or retrieve the goat for you?” asked Vipir, his tone steady and persuasive.

Ennis insisted that he would never breed another prize-winning goat and soon Lydia found herself following Vipir across the tundra, eventually arriving within stone’s throwing distance of a lone giant and Gleda the goat.

“How are we going to get the goat?” she asked harshly, looking over the boulder at the ambling giant.

Vipir remained calm.  “We’ll wait until it’s dark,” he explained.  “Then I will snatch it and we’ll run back to Rorikstead.”  He leaned back against the boulder and grinned.

His carefree disposition had been what attracted Lydia to Vipir in the first place.  But as they stood there, planning to steal a goat from a giant, she wondered how she could have been so stupid.  Not knowing quite how to respond—other than to ask if he was insane—she turned and sat on the ground with her face in her hands.

“Hey,” he said as he knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder.

Lydia looked up and shook her head.  “I’ve never been in this much trouble before.”

He moved closer to her and took her in his arms.  “Come here,” he said.  “You’re not in trouble.”  She buried her face in his shoulder.  “Lydia,” he said after a few moments.  “I am not joking when I say I have been caught in worse situations.”  Good gods, he thought.  Where would he begin if she asked? “We’ll figure out what happened.  Then, we will find that Sam and punch him repeatedly until he hands over the staff we have by now rightfully earned.”

She managed a slight grin.  The overwhelming anxiety plateaued, and she let him hold her until night came and it was time to snatch the goat from the giant.   Lydia stayed behind and Vipir crept forward and quickly grabbed the animal.   Then they ran as fast as they could, not even looking back to see if they had disturbed the giant.

Back in town, Ennis was pleased to have his goat and said that the note they left when they stole it said something about repaying Ysolda in Whiterun.

“Oh gods,” Lydia’s voice croaked as her knees buckled.

“What is it?” asked Vipir, catching and holding her steady.

“I’m from Whiterun remember!” she exclaimed, as if it should have been obvious.  “I know Ysolda…oh gods, what have I done?”

“Come on,” he said and helped her on to the horse.  “We’ll get this figured out.”

On the ride to Whiterun, Lydia had all but determined that she would be thrown out of Balgruuf’s court in disgrace when they arrived.   The thought made her sick and dizzy and several times she came close to throwing up.  Vipir didn’t bother trying to console her this time.  He had never seen anyone in such a state.

She insisted on waiting until evening before entering Whiterun to avoid having to interact with anyone other than Ysolda.  It was just after ten o’clock when they slipped in and walked directly to her house.

“Hello!” she said, as she opened the door.  “Come in!  How was the wedding?”

“The wedding?  Yes of course, the wedding!” exclaimed Vipir as they entered.  He paused for a moment, thinking very carefully about what he would say next.  “It seems we have some sort of repayment to settle with you?”

“Oh yes,” she said.  “Well, I gave you that ring on credit because Lydia assured me that he was a guest of Jarl Laila’s and payment would be forthcoming.”

Upon hearing this, Lydia covered her mouth and groaned loudly as she slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

“What’s wrong with Lydia?” asked Ysolda.

“She hasn’t been feeling well all day.”  He looked back and tried give Lydia a reassuring nod, but she was staring at the ground, holding her stomach. “Listen,” he began, as he turned back to Ysolda, “it seems that our groom skipped town.  On behalf of Jarl Laila, I’ll be settling his debt with you.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, as he paid for the ring.  “I just feel terrible for his betrothed.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.  “We need to go talk to her now.”  Vipir paused again. “And I’m not even sure where we can find her.  He didn’t say anything to you when he was choosing the ring, did he?”

“Yes,” said Ysolda.  “Well, that was sort of confusing.  He kept prattling on about Morvunskar and about Witchmist Grove being a special place.  Isn’t Morvunskar an old military fort?  That seems like a strange place to have a wedding…so, maybe it’s in the grove.”  Vipir nodded in agreement.  “You know,” she added.  “If you find him and can get the ring, I will buy it back.  It’s one of my best pieces and I hate to see such a beautiful wedding ring not be worn as it was intended.”

He nodded in agreement as he thanked Ysolda and then helped the still very distressed Lydia up from the floor.

Outside, he immediately started strategizing their next move.  “I’m not so sure about this grove, but Morvunskar is an abandoned fort probably occupied by marauders or necromancers so if you don’t have spare armor, we should go back to Riften first and get yours.” He paused and furrowed his brow.  “If Sam is at the fort, he’s probably dead.”  Lydia just stared at him, so he kept talking.  “What are we doing for the night?  If you need to stay at Dragonsreach, I can get a room….” His voice trailed off and he looked uncomfortable.

“No,” she replied, her voice sounded as if she were struggling to keep it steady.  “We can both stay at my house.”  She turned and walked briskly toward the main road.

“You have a house!” exclaimed Vipir in disbelief as he hurried after her.

Inside Breezehome, Vipir was a little overwhelmed.  Suddenly, the Cistern didn’t feel somewhat inadequate—it felt wholly inadequate.  He had been in so many  _houses_ , but it had been a while since he felt like he was in someone’s home.  Before he could say anything, however, Lydia whipped around and looked at him sharply.  “How…how do you do that?” she stammered; her tone was accusatory and harsh.

“Do what?”  Vipir was starting to feel bad, like he’d done something wrong even though he was the one keeping things together for her.  With any other woman, he would have scoffed and told her to back off.  But Lydia didn’t inspire feelings of defensiveness.  She made him feel protective and patient, which was unusual and scaredhim a bit.

“How can you be so calm?”  She was astonished at how things had gone with Ysolda, but she still felt frantic and thoughts of strange groves and dungeon delving were doing little to settle her nerves.   She couldn’t get her head around his self-assurance and now it was only adding to her angst.

He thought for a moment.  In his line of work anxiety led to being caught.  Also, thievery wasn’t simply about sneaking and stealing.  The best thieves knew how to exploit their surroundings—all their surroundings, objects, conversations, and so forth—the very things he had used to handle Ennis and Ysolda.  There was also the simple fact that he had far less to lose than she did. Finally, he moved closer and took her hand.  “I know why you’re worried.  It’s just…I was an orphan and I spent most of my childhood in some sort of trouble.  And until someone has me by the neck…well, I don’t see the point of getting all worked up.”  This wasn’t a lie, but how could he possibly explain it otherwise?

She considered this for a moment and reluctantly nodded.  Her anxiety was beginning to subside.  Or maybe she was just too tired to care.

Vipir studied her carefully. Even in her distressed state, her dress rumpled from their adventure, she still looked beautiful.  “Look,” he said, “if there is one thing I know about Skyrim, it’s that there is precious little that can’t be smoothed over with coin or a favor.”  He tugged her hand, trying to gauge her feelings toward him.Her face had softened and he pulled into a warm embrace.  They stood there, holding each other for several moments until Lydia led him upstairs, where they slept for a few hours before heading out again.

Early the next morning, they rode to Witchmist Grove.  When they arrived, they found a small barricaded cabin.  Vipir surveyed the area before dismounting the horse, which he had taken to calling Pidge.  The name sounded like something out of a Loredas morning cartoon.  But Vipir had never watched Loredas morning cartoons as a child.  Not because he was an orphan, but because there are no Loredas morning cartoons in Skyrim.

The grove was beautiful, but eerie and the barricaded cabin perplexed them.  “Hello!” called Lydia, taking care not to be too loud.  After a few moments, a haggard cry sounded from the cabin.  They moved a little closer with their hands on the hilts of their weapons.  Soon an old hagraven came out.  Rather than attack, however, she held her arms out and made a beeline toward Vipir.

“Darling!” she cried out, her voice gravely and deep.  “I’ve been waiting for you to return, to consummate our love.”

Vipir’s eyes grew wide with horror and he looked back at Lydia who had covered her mouth, not sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.

“I thought Sam was the groom,” he said.  “What am I supposed to do?  I don’t want to kill a creature that isn’t hostile.”

“Then go consummate with your hjarta and get the ring so we can get out of here,” said Lydia, trying to stifle her laughter.

He glowered at her and turned back to the hagraven.  “Ah no,” he said, rather uncomfortably.  “I was hoping to get the ring back.”

“What!” bellowed the hagraven.  “You want it for that hussy Esmerelda, with the dark feathers, don’t you?  I won’t let her have you.”  When she charged, Vipir had never been so happy to have a woman attack him—for once it just made everything easier.  She scratched at his face and he ran his sword into her gut.   After he took the ring from her hand, he turned to find Lydia sitting on the ground, laughing at him.

Whatever irritation Vipir had felt before was quelled upon seeing Lydia laugh and he couldn’t help but smile as well.  “Here,” he said as he sat down beside her, “you should take this.”  He turned her hand over and placed the ring in her palm.

Lydia’s eyes grew wide.  “What!” she exclaimed, not quite certain what to make of this gesture.

Oh shit, thought Vipir.  He struggled with what to say—he didn’t want to embarrass her but he also didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

“To bring back to Ysolda,” he explained.  When he saw her face flush with embarrassment, he jumped up and pulled her with him.  Then he threw his arms around her and gave her a quick, playful kiss.  “It’s good to see you laughing,” he said.

“We still have Morvunskar,” she said, her smile turning downward.

The fort wasn’t far from the grove and they arrived just in time to meet, Keith, a Breton mage from the College of Winterhold and his Nord companion, Hunk, a mercenary—a spellsword, skilled in both combat and magic—from Kynesgrove.   Keith and Hunk had defeated the five warlocks guarding Morvunskar and Vipir, not feeling all that confident about confronting a fort full of powerful mages, also paid Hunk’s fee so they could tag along and benefit from his destruction magic prowess.  Vipir, who otherwise did not care for mercenaries, later commented that Hunk was worth every septim he was paid.  He and Keith devastated the various conjurers and sorcerers, while Lydia and Vipir watched, only occasionally pitching in with poisoned arrows.

Keith and Hunk parted after they found the books they were seeking and looted most of the fort’s supplies of unusual potions and soul gems.  Lydia and Vipir lit torches and searched amongst the collapsed walls and dark corners, but there was no sign of the droopy-eyed Breton, Sam.

As they were about to leave, they made one final pass through an open room with an elevated landing.  At the top of the steps, they saw a large glowing sphere.  They approached cautiously and when they got close, Lydia could see an ethereal tunnel and she grabbed Vipir’s hand and pulled him in, as if compelled gently by some otherworldly force.

Lydia gasped as she stepped down onto a stone path that was lit with lanterns and flanked by gentle waterfalls and autumn-turned trees.  The air was misty and cool.  Wherever they were it was peaceful and Vipir swore he could hear a lute playing in the background.   He grasped Lydia’s hand and they made their way slowly down the path.

The path opened to a small area with a table at which a group of people were drinking and eating.  Sam was there and he turned as they approached.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed.  “I was beginning to think you might not make it.”

Both Vipir and Lydia had entertained fantasies of punching Sam in the face, but the grove had a calming, dream-like effect on both of them.

“What is this place?” asked Lydia.

“I thought you might not remember your first trip here.  You had a big night.  You’ve more than earned the staff,” he said.

“We have all the things to repair it,” said Vipir as he pulled the hagraven feathers, Giant’s toe, and holy water out of his armor pockets.

“Oh, the hagraven feathers and all that?  You can throw those out.  You see…” Sam’s voice trailed off and within seconds there was an explosion of blinding purple light.  When the light faded, a tall figure dressed in full Daedric armor stood before him.  He had horns on his head and blackened and blood red skin.  Lydia and Vipir stepped back slowly, frightened but still a bit tranquil.

The Daedric figure kept talking as if nothing had changed.  “I really just needed something to encourage you to go out in the world and spread merriment.  And you did just that!  I haven’t been so entertained in at least a hundred years.”

“For a Daedra, he seems awfully chipper,” whispered Viper to Lydia, who simply clutched his hand in silence.  “Who are you?” he asked.

The Daedra narrowed his eyes and gave Vipir a knowing look.  “I am Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery.”

“Oh my gods, Sanguine!”  Lydia threw her hand over her mouth and Vipir grabbed her waist, worried that she was going to collapse.

“I know, I know!  How could I lie to you both?  Well, how could I trust you until we’d shared a few drinks?”

There was a twisted sort of logic in his words and both Vipir and Lydia found themselves nodding in agreement—or perhaps it was just the mist.

“Anyway,” he continued, “it wasn’t long before I realized that either one of you’d make a more interesting bearer of my not-quite-holy staff than this waste of flesh.”

“But why us?” asked Vipir.

“Well, let’s be honest.  I don’t always think my decisions through,” he explained.  “But,” he gestured toward Vipir, “you’re someone who can handle himself.”  He paused and looked intently at Lydia, furrowing his brow at her.  “And you! You need to lighten up a bit, eh!  Maybe a little influence from your old Uncle Sanguine can help wrench that Jarl-shaped stick from your prat, no?”

“Hey!” said Vipir, though not as harshly as he should have.  After all, the mist.

“No,” conceded Lydia.  “He’s probably right.  Everyone says that.”  She dropped her head onto Vipir’s shoulder.  “Can we go soon?”

“I will be happy to take care of that,” said Sanguine.

Everything went dark and within seconds they were back sitting at their table in the Bee and Barb.  For a moment it seemed that nothing had changed.  But Vipir was holding the staff, the infamous Sanguine Rose. Lydia still had the wedding ring in her pocket and she was wearing her spare armor.

“Come on,” she said.  “Let’s go to bed.”

They went up to her room, where Lydia removed her armor and sat on the edge of the bed with her head down.  When Vipir sat down beside, he saw that she had tears in her eyes.  His heart and stomach sunk as he prepared himself for what she was about to say.  He began to pull away from her and was surprised when she looked up and lunged toward him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him aggressively.

When they stopped, she pressed her forehead into his shoulder and sobbed.

“What is wrong?” he asked.  He was terribly confused.

Lydia looked up and took his face in her hands.  She shook her head.  “I almost lost everything.  If it hadn’t been for you, I…I can’t even say it.  I am indebted to you.”

Vipir smiled warmly at her and shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.” He wanted to tell her that in just their short time together, she’d given him something no other woman had.  But he didn’t have the words to describe that feeling of completeness that he seemed to suddenly be dancing around.  He wasn’t there yet.  But this was the closest he had come, and all he wanted was just to keep going.


	41. Ill Met in Riften: Part IV

“A housecarl?  Have you lost your mind?”  Vipir opened his eyes to find Vex standing over his bed, sneering at him.

“Good afternoon, Vex.  How nice to see you,” he replied, smirking back at her.

“I’m serious,” she said, her irritation was obvious.  Vex was baffled that Bryn and Delvin weren’t more concerned that Vipir was fucking a housecarl.  They seemed to think this one would be gone soon, like all the women who traipsed in and out of his bed.  Vex didn’t disagree.  But a spurned housecarl could make trouble  _for the entire guild_.  In any case, she was determined to give him a hard time; at least then no one could say he wasn’t warned.  “Which court?” she asked.

“She lives in Whiterun,” he replied although he wasn’t sure why he was telling Vex anything.  What he did on his own time wasn’t any of her business.  And jobs were so few and far between these days; he had a lot of his own time.  He checked in with Delvin every other day or so at the Flagon, but this was the longest he’d spent in the Cistern in weeks.  He spent every night with Lydia at the Bee and Barb and during the day he tagged along on whatever task the Jarl sent her.

“Whiterun!” she exclaimed.  “One of Balgruuf’s?  Again, have you gone insane?  At the very least you could have gotten yourself someone from The Pale or Hjaalmarch.  They’re so gods damn poor, they’re corruptible.” He didn’t respond and she continued to scowl as she turned away.  “Maybe you can talk some sense into him,” she said to Rune, who had approached just moments before.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” he said.  Rune sat down at the bottom of Vipir’s bed.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d left us for the tundra.”

“No…I may soon though,” he said gesturing toward where Vex had wandered to indicate his annoyance.  “Did you do that favor I asked when you were in Whiterun?”

“I did.”  Rune paused for a moment.  “It didn’t seem right, using a protection symbol for someone who isn’t officially under the protection of the guild.  So, I marked it empty.  That should keep people away.”

“I appreciate that.”  Vipir tilted his head toward his friend in thanks and then looked up to the ceiling, knowing what was coming next.

“Have you told her yet?” he asked, his tone was serious—almost severe.  Rune was the only person in the guild who was genuinely concerned about Vipir’s relationship with Lydia.  Of course, he was the only one really knew the depth and intensity of his feelings for her.

“No,” he said curtly, but as soon as the word left his mouth, his face softened.  Try as he might, Vipir couldn’t bring himself to be irritated with Rune.  On one of his stops by the Flagon to see about work, he wound up pouring heart out to the man over too many tankards of mead.  At least Rune, unlike Vex, understood where he was coming from.

“You said you would.  Why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s not enough I tell her what I do for a living.  She’s going to want to know if I plan to keep doing it.”  He considered his next statement very carefully, realizing that Rune was one of the few men he could trust with it.  “And I’m not quite certain how I am going to answer that.”

Rune’s eyes grew wide.  He leaned over and asked quietly, “Are you seriously thinking of quitting?”

“I’m considering everything,” he said, pressing his palms to his forehead.  “I haven’t decided anything so I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

Rune nodded although he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.   Thieves were thieves for life—usually because there were few other jobs for individuals with their particular skill set.  Still, the guild was a tight group.  Such a decision would not simply involve moving from an illicit occupation to a legitimate one—Vipir would be leaving his closest friends and mentors, the only family he’d ever really known.

“Besides,” continued Vipir.  “I need to be focused on this Falkreath job.  I’ll tell her after that.”  In fact, the only reason he was hanging around was because of the job.  Brynjolf had found him in the Bee and Barb that morning to let him know that some things had changed and to come to the tavern later.  He had also hoped to have a gander at this Lydia, but she was at Mistveil Keep at the time.

Rune had a feeling he would find another excuse to put it off, but there was nothing more he could say.  The two of them walked over to the tavern, where they joined Brynjolf and Delvin.  Brynjolf went over the new details of the heist, important points but standard as far as jobs of this sort went.  What was remarkable, however, was the sheer amount of wealth and clients they would acquire on this job alone.  One of Cyrodill’s wealthiest nobles bought Lakeview Manor and Delvin had on good authority that he brought half of his art collection, a trove of rare and expensive pieces for which Delvin already had buyers lining up.

“We won’t be grovelin’ for work after this,” said Delvin.  “And even by my most conservative estimates, you could live comfortably on your individual cuts for a while.”

 _Lydia and I could live comfortably_ ….Vipir found his thoughts wandering again, thoughts he had no business entertaining, and yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Vipir!” Brynjolf’s voice jerked him back to reality.  “Is there anything you need for this job?”  He hadn’t even noticed that Delvin and Rune had left.

Vipir shook his head while Brynjolf looked intently at him.  Vipir had always been one of the guild’s most laidback members, but he hadn’t seen the man this content since…well, suffice to say he had never seen him this content.

“This housecarl of yours must be a fiend in the sack,” he said, grinning.  Vipir looked at him sharply, but within moments, his face cracked and he laughed.  He took another sip of his mead and leaned forward, resting one arm on the table and clutching the tankard with his other hand.

“Yeah,” he said finally.  “She’s…great.”  His tone was intended to be firm, keeping his emotions in check, but his lips twitched, like a little kid trying to hold back a giggle in the temple.  He was thinking about a story she told this morning and without realizing it, he was beaming into his cup.

Brynjolf couldn’t believe what he was seeing and he leaned in closer, as if inspecting the man for clues.  “Good gods lad…are you in love with her?”

Vipir looked at him.  He and Brynjolf went way back.  He was the one who brought him into the guild and taught him everything he knew.  He was a good mentor and friend.  Vipir trusted him as much as he could anyone, though had never intended to confide this—at least not so soon.  After a few awkward moments, he took a deep breath and said, “I think so.”

Shor’s bones, he thought.  How on Nirn did Vipir lose his heart to a housecarl?  He supposed it didn’t actually matter now; he couldn’t exactly scold the man for finding a good woman.  Still…a housecarl?  That could be trouble.  Or not, depending on how Vipir conducted himself.  “I just need you to stay sharp,” he said finally.

Vipir nodded.  “You don’t need to worry about that.”  And it was true **;** he was distracted but on a job, he was always focused.He stood up and waved good-bye as he walked back through the Cistern and out into the graveyard, the very spot where he’d met Lydia just about a month before.  So much had happened and so quickly.  And even if he could slow things down, he supposed he couldn’t delay the inevitable conversation—either a confession that would send her running or a decision that would show her that he was actually worthy of her.  He still didn’t know.  Falkreath would buy him some time and set him up nicely, should he decide he was ready to move on from the guild.  That thought, however, did not sit well with him at all.  Of course, neither did losing her.  As he approached the Bee and Barb, he found himself tense and frustrated and he stood outside just long enough to shake it off.  There was no need to bring it with him.

Up in her room, he found Lydia lying on the bed looking absolutely miserable.  “What’s the matter?” he asked as he lay down beside her.

“I need to go home soon,” she explained.  “Anuriel says that the bandits around the hold are well under control.  They’ve no need for my services anymore.”  Her eyes filled with tears.  She knew this day would come; she just had no idea it would feel so terrible.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I just don’t want this to be over.”

Vipir took her face in his hands and wiped her tears away.  “It’s not over,” he said, kissing her.  “When do you have to leave?”

“I told Anuriel I would head up to Shor’s Stone and take care of some spiders in Redbelly Mine tomorrow.  After that I can stay for another day or so,” she said.

“Good,” he said. He didn’t want to think about it right now, but he wouldn’t disregard her feelings either.  “I’m going to Falkreath tomorrow.  I’ll be back the following evening and when I come back, I’ll settle up with my associates and bring you back to Whiterun.”  As she smiled and nodded at this, he brought her closer and gently kissed, first her neck, then her ear.  He ran his fingertips along her cheek before bringing his hands down and slowly removing her clothes.  After that he drew everything out, prolonging every touch.  Offering such tenderness made him feel vulnerable, but that is what he wanted, what he needed to do for her.  And she received him so passionately—he was shocked that something so soft and gentle could be so intense.  This was the moment he wanted to preserve forever, without the passing of time and the pressure of responsibility dragging them apart.  He was still inside her when he brought his lips to her ear.  “I love you,” he whispered.

Lydia’s eyes widened and when she paused, Vipir’s heart seized in his chest until she responded in kind, “I love you, too.”

He couldn’t lose her.  As she slept, her beautiful naked body draped over his, he stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what kind of life he might lead with her, living in Breezehome.  When he remembered that Whiterun still needed a fence, he nearly leapt out of bed in excitement thinking perhaps he could combine legitimate sales with occasional guild sales, just as some of the caravans did.  But he was a pickpocket, not a merchant, and you really couldn’t just open a store in someone’s home.  There were permits and taxes and other things he didn’t understand.  No, he would have to find regular work.  Not only to earn his keep, but for something to do while she was on the road.   He wasn’t sure what sort of occupation he would find himself in.  He was only certain of one thing.  He was leaving the guild.

*****

Vipir left before sunrise on Middas, promising he would return Fredas evening by dinnertime.  When he didn’t, Lydia was disappointed but not concerned.  But when he hadn’t returned by Loredas evening, she was worried.  After staying up all night imagining deadly bandits and mauraders on the road to Falkreath, she set out for the Ratway early Sundas morning—sick with exhaustion and fear.

The Ratway, she’d heard, was a horrible place and she approached the entrance with trepidation.  She had no idea what to expect or even how to find this place, the Ragged Flagon, where she knew Vipir had friends and associates.  She peered through the bars but before she could open the gate, a strong arm grabbed and jerked her around.

“You set us up, didn’t you?”  It was Rune and he was furious.

“What…?” asked Lydia. “Where is Vipir?  He was supposed to be home Fredas evening.”  Her voice was shaking and Rune watched as her face started to break.

“You don’t…know?” Rune’s anger was giving way to confusion.

“Know what?  Rune, what is going on?”  Her voice cracked as tears filled and fell from her eyes.  She was terrified and even more confused than he was.

Rune shook his head and tried to get his thoughts together.  Vex was wrong.  Lydia couldn’t be involved in this.  No one with the nerve to take on the guild would be stupid enough to hang around Riften soon after.  They may not have the influence they once had, but the guild still had muscle.  Rune stopped for a moment and thanked the Eight Divines he had found her before she had gone into the Ratway.  If she’d gone to the Flagon and Mercer had gotten a hold of her—he choked and forced the thought out of his mind.

He took a deep breath.  “Lydia, Vipir needs your help.  He’s in Falkreath Jail.”

Lydia felt her body grow cold.  “What!” she gasped.  “I…I don’t understand.”

“All right,” said Rune.  “Look, Vipir’s in the Thieves Guild.  We had a huge heist on Middas and something went wrong.  Very wrong and now he’s in jail.  And no one in the guild can get close enough to break him out or even pay the gods damn fine.”

Lydia couldn’t believe what she was hearing.   She was overwhelmed with feelings of dread and confusion and could barely remember telling Rune she would ride to Falkreath.  She hurried back to the Bee and Barb and packed all her belongings before heading to the stables to catch a carriage out.  The ride felt like the longest she had ever taken.  All she could do was try to get her mind around what Rune had told her.  Vipir.  A thief.  In the Thieves Guild.  In jail.  During the ride her emotions ran the gamut of sadness, anger, and humiliation—over and over.

By the time she’d arrived in Falkreath, she realized that it was his cunning that had kept her out of trouble the night they fell into Sanguine’s little game and for that she still owed him.  Not wanting to be indebted to a criminal for the rest of her life, she decided to pay his fine and walk away.  Balgruuf would eventually find out.  When she returned to Dragonsreach, she would tell her Jarl that Vipir saved her life in Faldar’s Tooth.  Or something.  More lies, but she didn’t think the truth would go over so well.

It was late when she arrived in Falkreath and she hurried over to the Jarl’s Longhouse.  Jarl Siddgier was lounging in his throne when Lydia approached.  The thought of requesting information on a prisoner was wrecking her nerves and she could barely speak.

“Speak up!” he demanded.

“Jarl Siddgier,” she began.  “I am Lydia of Whiterun, a housecarl of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.   I’ve come here seeking information about a—”

“Information?”  His tone was derisive.  “I demand tribute before you can go about demanding information from me.”

“Tribute?  I have money,” she said.  His request perplexed her; housecarls didn’t usually bring tribute.  And it certainly wasn’t  _mandatory_  when seeking counsel.

“How about drink?” he replied.  “None of that local piss. Real Black-Briar Reserve, fresh from Riften.”  He looked at her smugly.  “Now, off with you.   Bring me a bottle and I will consider your request.”

Frustrated, Lydia turned around and left the hall.  She couldn’t go all the way back to Riften just for mead.  Maybe she could bribe a guard.  As she stood there considering her options, she heard someone say her name.

“Lydia?”  It was an Altmer woman.  Lydia didn’t recognize her but before she could ask, the woman continued.  “I’m Nenya, Jarl Deng—excuse me, Jarl Siddgier’s steward.  You said you are a housecarl in Jarl Balgruuf’s court?”

“Yes,” said Lydia.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Lydia swallowed against the tightness in her throat.  “Yes,” she said.  “I came here looking for information about…about a prisoner,” she stammered.  “His name is Vipir.”

Nenya thought for a moment.  “We haven’t brought anyone in by that name.”

“What about Sven?”

“Yes,” she said.  “He was brought in early Turdas morning.  Do you know him?”

“He is…um, was, a friend,” explained Lydia.  Her face had fallen completely and her voice was raw.  “I said that I would check on him as a favor.  And ask about his fine.”

“Come with me,” she said.  “I will let you see him.  And we can discuss his fine.”  On the way to the barracks that housed Falkreath’s jail, Nenya explained that Vipir was being charged with everything the Jarl could throw at him and would get stacked sentences.  He would be in jail for close to a year, taking the fall for everyone involved in the heist.  “If I may speak frankly,” she said.  “Jarl Siddgier wants to appear tough as he start his reign.  I think he’s making your friend an example.”  Nenya spoke as if she didn’t have much faith in Siddgier’s judgment.  “But, he cannot go outside of the law.  If the fine is paid, he can go free.”

When they entered the jail, Lydia gasped.  She could see Vipir lying in a cell, his bent arm covering his face.

They stood back near the entrance, out of sight of the cellblock.  “Balgruuf will be informed if I pay the fine, correct?” she asked quietly.

“There are ways around that,” said Nenya.  When she saw the perplexed look on Lydia’s face, she explained.  “As we transition from Dengier to Siddgier’s court, we—well, I am going to be relying on Balgruuf’s counsel and resources.  I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if we kept the record between us clean for now.”

Lydia nodded and looked back over toward the cell.  Before she approached, she took a deep breath and bit her lip.  Her step was so soft that he didn’t know she was standing there until she cleared her throat.

“Lydia! Oh gods,” he cried as he scrambled to his feet.  “Lydia, I am so—”

“Don’t!” she croaked, her lip was trembling as warm tears streamed down her cheeks.  She looked at him clutching the bars of the cell door above his head as he stared back out at her.  He was pale and haggard and his dark eyes were so full of sadness it wrenched her heart. She had gone into the jail thinking she would see him for the hardened criminal that he really was.  But, she didn’t.  She only saw Vipir.  And she still wanted him.  He was the cause of all her grief and yet she wanted him to be the one to take her in his arms and make it all go away.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, she approached his cell slowly.  She knew she shouldn’t but she wanted to touch him so much it hurt.  Ignoring all her intuition and good sense, she put her hand up to his and leaned against the cell bars until their foreheads touched.  “Why didn’t you tell me,” she asked.

He let out an uncomfortable laugh.  “Would you have paid any attention to me then?”  When she didn’t respond, he cautiously wrapped his fingers around hers and gently squeezed her hand.  “Lydia,” he began, “I really need that favor now.”  His deep, quiet voice tugged at her heart.

She closed her eyes.  “We can’t be together,” she said, her voice shaking.  She felt his head nod as it pressed against hers.  But she wasn’t saying it for his sake.   Every part of her ached for him and she knew exactly what was going to happen if she let him out.  They would fight and then she would give in.  She would let him back into her arms, her heart, her soul…her bed.  They would walk together, probably as far as Helgen.  And then, after a night of too much sex and juniper-berry mead, they would part.  Duty would find her and she would bury her grief in work.  And Vipir?  She could only imagine that another woman would find him and he would bury his grief—or whatever he felt—in her naked, writhing body.  Lydia practically choked on this thought.

Lydia pulled away from the cell as Nenya approached her carefully.  “What do you want to do?” she asked quietly.

Her sadness was giving way to anger again—a kind of jealous and resentful fury she had never felt before.  She wanted him, she couldn’t have him, and for that she would punish him.  She looked at Vipir’s sad, pleading eyes and glared at him.   “Let him…gods, let him rot,” she said, turning away.

“FUCK! LYDIA!” Vipir screamed.  He punched the cell so hard she heard his knuckes crack.  His angry bellows sounded through the barracks as they left.

Outside Lydia collapsed on her knees and sobbed until she gagged.  Nenya took pity on the young housecarl, helped her up and brought her inside.   Lydia spent the night sitting upright in the bed the steward prepared for her and she left the next morning before anyone could see her.

During the long walk back to Whiterun, she spoke only when absolutely necessary: to ask for food, to rent a room, and to curse Mara as she tossed her amulet into the river where it would never taunt or tempt her again.  She cried until Helgen, raged until Riverwood, and when she arrived at the gates of Whiterun, she had resigned herself to a life of work and duty.


	42. They Say it Fades

For over fifteen minutes the sounds of Vipir’s wrath echoed through the Cistern.  It had been over five and a half years, but Lydia still recognized those wails.  When the sounds died down, the silence seemed to scream back.  No one spoke; everyone simply stared—first, toward the room where Vipir had retreated and then back at Lydia.

Finally, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, Elspeth turned to her and asked, “What in Oblivion did you do to that man?”

“I left him in prison,” she replied quietly.

“For a year,” interjected Rune, who had joined the women at the edge of the bridge by Mercer’s desk.  “Perhaps  _somebody_  should go talk to him,” he suggested, narrowing his gaze toward Lydia.

But she just stood there, staring and biting her lip.  She turned to Elspeth, who was furious.

“Why didn’t you just stay in the room?” she demanded.  But before Lydia could answer, Elspeth yanked her closer and whispered harshly.  “You need to fix this.  Did you see how angry the ginger looked?  I don’t think they are going to tell us anything now.”  She looked back toward the desk where several of the thieves had gathered.  They were huddled and talking in hushed tones.

“I’m sorry,” said Lydia.  “I just—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” said Elspeth as she pushed Lydia over the bridge.  “Go talk to…to whatever his name is.”  She stepped back as Lydia walked tentatively forward, but then lunged toward her again and grabbed her arm.  “Grovel if you must but…” she paused and glanced across the room.   Several of the thieves were looking their way, glowering.  “If he tries anything, I will slice him open.”  She gave her another light shove. “Now, go!”

Lydia walked slowly over the bridge and around the corner.  As she approached the room where Vipir had thrown his tantrum, she stopped and took a deep breath, desperate to quell the anxiety gnawing at her stomach.  In the years since she had left Vipir in Falkreath, her anger and grief had given way to guilt.  What she had done was not motivated by justice or even to protect her position in Balgruuf’s court.  It was vengeance, pure and simple.  It was spiteful and malicious and she regretted it.  But she never thought she would see him again.

She peered into whatlooked like it had once been a training room.  Practice dummies and chests and barrels were overturned; weapons and arrows were strewn everywhere.  In the middle of it all was Vipir, sitting cross-legged and resting his elbow on his knee as he held his head in his hand.  He looked…gods, she thought, as her heart flipped around in her chest…he looked good, but so weary and distressed.  It hurt to think how much she brought that on, just by being here.  After several moments, she stepped in and sat on a storage chest just inside the door, one of the few that hadn’t been tossed around during his fit.

“My gods, Lydia.” he said as looked up.  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a mix of dismay and irritation.

Lydia swallowed hard. “I still owe you a favor,” she replied, stumbling over each word and hoping desperately that some levity would diffuse the tension between them.

Vipir just stared at her blankly before shaking his head and letting out a loud, uncomfortable laugh.  “I’m having the worst fucking day,” he said.  And it was true.  He had taken the new kid up to Ivarstead and when he returned to their meeting place, he was gone.  Boti said that she had seen Altmer in dark robes, Justiciars maybe, right around where Etienne should have been waiting.  But no one saw them arrive or leave.  Vipir felt responsible and rode back to Riften as fast as he could in an utter panic.  The last person in the world he expected or wanted to see upon returning to the Cistern was Lydia.   “I’m serious,” he said sternly.  “Why are you here?”

“I’m here with Elspeth,” she explained.  “She needs some information from Brynjolf.”

“Elspeth?  Is she your Thane?” he asked sardonically, although he was actually somewhat curious.

“No.  She’s a friend,” she explained.  “I’ve been helping her with an important task.”

“Good!” he said, smirking.  “I hate Thanes.  Even more than I hate housecarls.”

That stung, but she had no business being surprised.  “I deserve that,” she said, looking down.  When she looked up again, she expected to see him seething at her.  But he wasn’t.  His eyes—those dark, soulful eyes that she once loved—were filled, not with anger but sadness.   “Look,” she continued slowly.  “Elspeth did some work for your guild—”

“What!” he interrupted  “ _Your_  friend?  Did work for the guild?  And you’ve been helping her?”  He let out another uneasy laugh.  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Rune recognized me even before you arrived,” she continued, ignoring the sarcasm that cut into her heart.  “Now it looks like Brynjolf is going to renege on their deal.”

“And what, pray tell, do you want me to do about it?”

“You have every reason to hate me.  But please, please don’t take it out on her,” she pleaded.  Her voice was so very sad and desperate.

He paused and thought about this.  During his incarceration, he had taken all that rage—all the rage he felt toward her and all rage he’d seen in her eyes as she turned away from his cell—and turned it back onto himself.  He spent his time in prison mired in self-loathing.  He certainly hated her back then.

“You know,” he began, “I used to imagine all the things I would say to you if I saw you again.”  He paused, trying to read her face.  He always supposed she would be aloof and haughty with him, regretting the intimacy they once had.  But she just appeared unhappy, and still rather beautiful, which made him soften—but just a bit.  “I don’t hate you Lydia, but it’s really hard to look at you.”

“I didn’t come here to hurt you,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a deep breath as he leaned back, “I’m sure you didn’t.”

Lydia was working up the nerve to tell him something and there was a long silence that was surprisingly not nearly as awkward as either expected.  “I’m so sorry Vipir,” she said finally.  “I should have paid your fine.  I never should have left you there.”  Her lip was trembling and she had tears in her eyes.

He shook his head.  Her apology made him uneasy although he wasn’t sure why.  “You didn’t have much of a choice,” he said.  He never forgot that she left him in anger, but he had always assumed that helping him would have compromised her position and reputation in Dragonsreach.

“But I did!” she exclaimed.  The words came out in a strangled cry as the tears fell and her chin quivered.  “Nenya offered to let me pay the fine anonymously.  ”  Lydia had hoped this confession would lighten the weight that had settled into her chest, but his face had contorted and he looked almost as angry as he did that moment years ago when he realized that she was going leave him to rot in his cell.

“Why are you telling me this now?” he bellowed.  On this day, where he felt as though he failed the guild, that he was not worthy of the family that was just outside standing up for him, the truth of why Lydia abandoned him cut deeply.  She was not the beautiful and virtuous woman who had once seen something good and worthy in him.  She was vindictive and cruel and she left him to rot because he was worthless.

“I thought you deserved the truth,” she sobbed.

“Oh fuck you Lydia!”

*****

“Vipir the Fleet?  What sort of a name is that?”  Elspeth shook her head.  “Did she give him that nickname?  No wonder he hates her.”  She took another drink of the mead that Rune had poured while he laughed and choked on his.  She was irritated and impatient, but was otherwise enjoying her conversation with Rune, who took it upon himself to relay the details of what happened between Lydia and Vipir.

“What about your name?” she asked.  “Did your parents call you Rune?  Or is that your sneak-thief name?”

“Have no idea what my birth name really is, and I frankly don’t care.”  When she raised her eyebrows, he grinned and continued.  “Actually, the fisherman who found me, the man I call my father gave it to me. Thought it was fitting I suppose. I never changed it, because it never felt right to do so.”

“Yes, but why Rune?”

“My father told me he found me as a young boy in the wreckage of a ship that sank off of the coast near Solitude. All he found in my pocket was a tiny smooth stone inscribed with some sort of strange runes,” he explained.

“Very interesting,” she replied.  “It actually sounds like the masculine version of Runa, my guardian’s name.”

Rune furrowed his brow and looked at her intently.  “Wait.  Did your parents die in a refugee camp?”

“How did you know that?”  Her voice grew suspicious as she sat upright.

“Relax,” he said.  “It was the first thing Lydia ever told me.  Well, after hello and her name.  I remember thinking, that’s a lot of random information.”  Rune leaned forward and looked out into the Cistern.  “I knew she was trouble.  I never said as much though.”

Elspeth rolled her eyes.  “I just can’t believe you thought she was involved in thwarting your heist,” she said, smirking.  “Lydia is an incredible warrior and she’s smart.  But…well, she’s not exactly cunning.”

He nodded his head in agreement.  “When Vipir didn’t come back, I thought for sure it was because he went home with her.  That failed heist set us way back and it was months before we figured out he wasn’t in Whiterun and was still in Falkreath jail.”  Rune shook his head as he pulled his tankard to his face, muttering “Fucking Siddgier” before finishing the last of his mead.

“You know,” she replied, “there is only so much sympathy I can muster for a criminal spending time in prison but Siddgier is a jackass.”  The things she knew about the Jarl of Falkreath made her blood boil but she pushed this aside for now.  “A year seems excessive, if what you told me is true.”

“Vipir took the fall for everyone,” Rune explained.  “It’s not that all the crimes weren’t committed; they were.  But he wasn’t responsible for everything.  He’s just the one that got caught.”

“And Lydia left him there.”  Elspeth let out a long exasperated sigh.  “Now the information I need is being held hostage at the whimof a spurned lover.  Great.”  She was getting angry again.

“I’m sorry,” said Rune.  “Something else come up that Vipir feels responsible for and I’m fairly certain Brynjolf doesn’t want to drop a salt pile in that wound by helping  _Lydia-the-housecarl’s_  friend.”  His emphasis on her name and station betrayed the shared disdain toward Lydia within the guild.

As if on cue, Vipir and Lydia returned.  As Rune and Elspeth approached, they both shook their heads.  They were both so deliberate, the gesture looked rehearsed.  Vipir went to the Ragged Flagon to drink himself into Oblivion while Lydia joined Rune and Elspeth.  They looked over at Brynjolf who simply scowled and with a quick jerk of his head, signaled for Rune to escort the women away.   Fuck, thought Elspeth.  She was livid.

“I made everything worse,” said Lydia.  “I wanted to apologize and come clean with him.  I feel terrible about this.”  She looked absolutely miserable and Elspeth couldn’t bring herself to be angry with her.  But she was still furious.

“All right,” said Rune, leading them back toward the kitchen area.  “Look, I’ve got to get you two out of here.  Go get a room at the Bee and Barb.  I’ll talk to Brynjolf in a day or so.  Once things settle down around here, I’ll try to get him to come around.  He’s not one to renege on a deal—things are just a little, well, insane right now.”

Lydia was nodding in agreement and thanking Rune for his help, but Elspeth wasn’t paying attention.  Instead, she was leaning against the wall and reflecting on everything that had brought her to this point.  Arcane.  Helgen.  The College.  Ondolemar.  She looked around the Cistern and at the thieves who were wandering about, practicing archery, talking with Brynjolf.  The Sorcerer’s Bane could devastate this place, she thought.  This realization brought her mind into sharp focus.  She had to stop acting so fucking powerless, when she had strength and power that these people couldn’t possibly comprehend.  She also suddenly realized why Xeri had made such an effort to teach her to remain detached.  She scanned the room again and looked back at Rune and Lydia.  She knew what she had to do.

“Does that ladder lead out?” she asked, looking toward the back of the kitchen area.  “Is it locked?” she continued as he nodded toward her.

“Not from the inside,” he explained, although her sudden curiosity was somewhat confusing.  “Look, let’s just get you both out of here.”

Elsepth glanced across the Cistern once more as she stepped to the side and stood in front of him.  “Your guild is like a family, right?  You mess with one, you mess with everyone.”

“Yes…but Brynjolf’s not unreasonable.  In a day or so, I should be able to convince him to come around,” he assured her.

 _Should_.  Elspeth needed more than that.  “You are a really nice guy, Rune.” She looked carefully him.  He had a warm smile and such expressive eyes.  Her heart started beating rapidly and her stomach seized up.  “I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled back and threw her arm across his face as hard as she could—dragging her bracer against the bone under his eye and his nose.  She yanked him down by his armor and kneed him twice, once in his gut and once between his legs, so that he fell to the ground.  Then, she stomped on his hand, breaking his fingers, before bringing him up to his knees.  Finally, she cast a row of lightening runes on the ground in front of them.   Rune howled in pain as she grabbed her dagger and held it under his throat.

“What are you doing?” said Lydia as she readied her axe.

“I am getting what I came here for!”

“You bitch!” A huge blond Nord with red face paint screamed as he charged toward them.  He was immediately thrown back by an exploding lighting rune but Elspeth barely noticed as she tossed two perfectly aimed fireballs across the Cistern at a couple more thieves who were readying their bows.  The spells she cast were just strong enough to fend them off but not kill them.  Not yet.

“Shor’s balls! Stay back!” yelled Brynjolf at the others who came running ready to fight.  “She’s a mage, like that blowhard mercenary at the Bee and Barb.”  He and Mercer had approached swiftly with their weapons drawn, but stopped with the first lightening explosion.

“Oh I am way more powerful than Marcurio,” she screamed.  “Brynjolf, you listen to me.  You don’t get to renege on our deal because one of your thieves went to jail five years ago and his lover of a month decided she had better things to do than spring him.  Guess what!  Thieves go to jail.  Court housecarls don’t pay their fines.  That’s the way the world works.”  She pushed the blade against Rune’s neck and he started whimpering.  The dagger was glowing slightly—the lunar forge enchantment was in effect, burning his neck even though she was only lightly digging the blade into his skin.

“Shut up!” she shouted.  His cries threatened to break her, which would ruin the whole stunt.  She looked back across at the thieves who were standing around, stunned silent.   She would have much preferred to assault one of them instead of Rune.  They hadn’t shared their mead with her as he had.  And their faces were not kind like his.

“Brynjolf, get my information.  Now.”  She was desperately trying to keep her voice steady.  Thalmor and bandits and cave-dwelling mages were easy; it was simply kill or be killed.  Never before had she threatened harm when she actually didn’t want to inflict any.  She was terrified.   Terrified of her cunning and that they would see right through her and soon she would be on the other end of the blade.

“All right!” he said as he left to retrieve the ledger from Mercer’s desk and stormed over, stopping just short of a lightning rune.

“Turn the page down and toss the book to Lydia,” Elspeth ordered.  Lydia caught the book and brought it over.  Next to Birkir Wartooth’s name were property details for a location she didn’t recognize.

Lydia shrugged and scribbled the location on a scrap of paper from her satchel.  “We’ll ask the scout with the caravan right outside town,” she said as she dropped the book and stuffed the paper into the pocket inside her armor.

“Get out of my Cistern,” yelled Mercer.  “And don’t let me ever see your face here again.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Elspeth promised as she and Lydia backed away, still dragging a groaning Rune along on his knees.  Lydia opened the trap door and quickly scaled the ladder.

Elspeth sheathed her dagger and grabbed Rune’s broken hand.  “What the fuck are you doing?” he croaked.  She winced when he turned his head and looked up at her.  His eye was swollen shut and she was fairly certain his nose was broken.

“A thief needs his hands,” she explained as she applied a healing spell to the fingers she had broken.   When she was done she shoved him away—his pained and confused expression was too much to bear—and followed Lydia up the ladder and out to the graveyard.

“Well, would you look at that!” exclaimed Lydia as she exited the monument with the single stone coffin.  “That’s why they were in the cemetery.”  She grunted and shook her head.  “We need to leave Riften right now.  Who knows what one of those thieves will try after they’ve had too much to drink tonight.  We’ll restock with the caravan and camp on the way.”

“All right,” agreed Elspeth, still somewhat shaken by her burst of violence.

After procuring supplies and directions from the caravan, they walked for an hour or so before camping although they did not feel much like sleeping.  By morning, neither was particularly well rested and so they ambled along.  Soon, they saw a house in the distance right where Zaynabi, the caravan’s scout said it would be.

Elspeth stopped for a moment and just stared.  “There it is,” she said.

“Are you nervous?” Lydia asked.

“Oh, you know she’s not going to be there right?  Whoever is in there is going to tell us that Elrindir has been hiding Nerussa in the basement of the Drunken Huntsman  _this entire time_.”

They approached cautiously.  The house was set in a cluster of trees, at the end of a path flanked by an outcropping of rocks.  Elspeth heard a snap and whipped around.  But before she could even put her hand to the hilt of her sword, she heard a light thud and felt a sharp pain in her left leg.  “Gah!” she said as she leaned in to Lydia.  “Arrow.”

Lydia readied her axe and helped Elspeth to the ground.  “Are you okay?” she asked as she looked around, trying to find where the arrow came from.  She couldn’t see anyone.  “Heal up and we’ll knock.  I can’t see anything.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Elspeth replied.  She couldn’t get the healing spell focused because her leg was going numb.  Everything was going numb.  “I can’t feel anything,” she said, as the sensation in her limbs began to fade.  Her tongue felt thick and she could see a haze of grey and black cloud her vision.  “Lyd….p-p-oison,” she burbled as she slumped over.

“Elspeth!”  Lydia dropped to her knees and began frantically searching their satchels for a cure poison potion.

“There is nothing you can give her that will help.”

Lydia jumped up with her axe and looked at the tall, dark haired Nord who was now standing in front of her.  Lydia hadn’t even heard him approach.  Just as she raised her arm, she heard another voice from behind.  “I don’t think so,” it said.  Someone held a sword to the back of her head.  It was a woman, a tall red-haired Nord.

“I designed that poison and there is only one antidote.”  He patted the pocket of his armor.

“Give it here!” screamed Lydia.

“Why should I?” he asked.  “You are trespassing on my property.”

“We didn’t come here to hurt anyone,” she explained, her voice shaking with sheer panic.  “We’re just looking for Nerussa!”

“I don’t know any Nerussa,” he said.  “Tell me what you are doing here and—”

The door to the house opened and a tall Altmer woman came rushing out.  “What is going on out here?” she exclaimed.  “Trgvye, what have you—oh my gods!” she exclaimed when looked down and saw Elspeth.  She dropped to her knees and gathered Elspeth in her arms. “Trygve!  Give her the antidote, NOW!”

“Do you know this woman?” asked the one with the red hair.  Her voice was low and joyless.

“Are you Nerussa?” asked Lydia nervously, still feeling rather apprehensive about this Trygve and the red-headed woman.

The Altmer ignored them and shifted just enough to give Trygve room to administer the potion.  She moved Elspeth’s hair out of her face and cupped her face in her hand, gazing at her as tears formed and fell down her cheeks.  “Oh my gods,” she said, her eyes not leaving Elspeth.

“Who is she?” asked Trygve as he propped the potion bottle in Elspeth’s mouth.

“This…” she said, her voice full of astonishment.  “This is Bedyn’s child.”


	43. Did it take long to find me

Apart from her head and neck, Elspeth had no feeling in her body as she awoke.  Staring up, she saw Lydia and an Altmer woman looking back down at her and felt Lydia’s warm hand on her forehead, which settled only a tiny bit of the panic in her head.

“We found her,” Lydia whispered as she brought her head level with Elspeth’s on the pillow.  “This is [Nerussa](http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:Nerussa).”

Nerussa didn’t look like many elves Elspeth knew.  While her almond shaped amber eyes and pointed ears were unmistakably Altmer, her golden skin had pink undertones and her silver blonde hair was swept up in a style reminiscent of Cyrodill nobility, rather than high elf.  She was watching Elspeth with a look of awe and affection that she found unsettling, but that was the least of her concerns.  “I can’t feel my body,” she said, her voice was raw and panicked.

“That will wear off soon,” came a man’s voice from across the room.  Elspeth craned her neck slightly and saw two Nords, a man and a woman, standing on the other side of the room, their posture stoic and expressions harsh.

His remark did little to assuage her anxiety, however.  “Who is that?” she asked Lydia.

“He’s the one who poisoned you,” she responded scathingly as she looked back and scowled.

“He’s also the one who saved you,” said the woman sternly as she pushed her red hair behind her ears and leaned back against the wall with her arms across her chest.

Lydia’s lips twitched as if she were struggling to hold back something mean.  Before she could say anything, however, Nerussa intervened.  “Elspeth,” she said.  “This is Trygve Wartooth, Thane of the Rift and his housecarl, Iona.  Trygve’s father provided me with protection and shelter after I left Markarth.  When he died, Trygve resumed that commitment.”

She nodded slowly as she observed them.  Both were tall with broad shoulders and stern faces.  If either cracked a smile, they might have looked stunning—Trygve especially.  He had dark brown tousled hair and light eyes.  His features were soft though not delicate.

Elspeth’s body was recovering a bit of sensation and she inched her way up along the bed, while Lydia propped her upright.  There was a long uncomfortable silence before Nerussa spoke again.  “Start from the beginning Elspeth,” she said.  “I want to know everything.”

“Well….after I tried to cross the border through Morrowind, I was arrested and—”

“Not  _that_  beginning,” interrupted Nerussa calmly.  “Trygve and Iona know who you are, so don’t concern yourself with that.”

“Oh,” she replied.  “Okay…I was born on the 5th of Sun’s Dawn in 180….” Elspeth talked at length about growing up in Frostcraig Village and the sanctuary her parents provided to elves and mages who continued to support Evangeline and Bedyn after their exile.  Despite the numbness still gripping her body, her tone was chipper and animated, as if the story that had been captive her whole life had been begging and was now finally being released.  Lydia simply smiled, happy to hear more details of her childhood, while Nerussa took everything in, committing the information to memory as if she were preparing for the most important exam of her life.  Trygve and Iona listened although appeared only mildly interested.

“How did your father die?” asked Nerussa, as Elspeth relayed the story of leaving the Village for Bruma with Xeri and Runa.

“His party was ambushed by bandits on the way home from visiting my grandmother’s headstone,” she explained.

“Bandits?” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.  She looked toward Lydia who looked up and away awkwardly.  “Well…I wish I had known,” she said as she touched Elspeth’s arm affectionately.   She stood up and rubbed her hands together.  “You seem weary—why don’t you take a break and rest for a bit?  I’m going to get some tea.  Lydia, will you help me in the kitchen, please.  Trygve, check the wound again and put a fresh bandage on.”

She gathered up the bloody bandages and the broken arrow from where Trygve had left them and led Lydia to the kitchen.  She tossed the debris aside and began to prepare a kettle.  When Lydia shut the door, she turned around quickly and frowned.  “ _Bandits?”_ Nerussa asked; her tone was incredulous.

Lydia paused and stepped away from the door.  But before she could respond, Nerussa was pressing her.  “Come on,” she said.  “What do you know?”

“The Thalmor killed Bedyn,” she replied.  “But Elspeth doesn’t know that.”

Nerussa pursed her lips in frustration.  “Why not?” she asked sternly.

“Xeri felt….” Lydia shook her head.  The secret had been a source of tension between Xeri and Runa for years before it was passed on to her.  “Xeri tried to raise Elspeth with a very…academic understanding of the Thalmor.  She didn’t want her to be motivated by vengeance or burdened with anger and grief.”

“I swear, you Nords and your fierce stoicism have nothing on the Dunmer warriors.  They’ve made emotional deprivation an art form!” she exclaimed as she hurried around the kitchen looking for cups.  “And how did this  _academic understanding_  work out for her?” she asked; her voice was quiet, but her tone was thick with derision.

“I think it worked out fine until she was a student at Arcane University and came home one night to find all her friends and teachers dead,” said Lydia.

“Oh!” she gasped as she put her hands over her mouth.  “That poor child!”

“She’s not a child,” said Lydia defensively.

Nerussa looked at her and scowled.  “Spare me,” she said.  When she saw how hurt Lydia looked her face softened a bit.  “I’m sorry.   Xeri Tharys creates warriors.  I have seen her take the weak and the timid and make them fierce.  But she’s not so good at making people. Thank Mara for women like your aunt although I suspect that Elspeth still has much to learn.”

Lydia nodded in agreement.  “Are you going to tell her?” she asked.  “About her father?”  Xeri had sworn her to secrecy and there had been days when it had been a struggle not to tell.  Lately, however, it was less of a struggle.  After witnessing Elspeth’s experiences with the Thalmor of late, Lydia now feared the emotional and violent fallout such information would inspire.

“No. It’s not my place,” she said as she gathered up the tray of cups and gestured for Lydia to get the door.

In the bedroom, Elspeth was propped up on the pillow looking somewhat uncomfortable although she was rubbing her hands together and moving her feet, indicating that the feeling in her limbs was returning.  As Lydia handed her a steaming mug of tea, Elspeth gestured for her to lower her head.  “These two are very serious, no?” she asked.  Lydia nodded and frowned.  There had been little said among the three Nords in the last hour, but Lydia knew she did not care for either and was eager to leave them and make their to Whiterun with Nerussa.

After Nerussa passed the rest of the mugs around, she sat down next to Elspeth again. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing in Skyrim since you arrived.”

Elspeth relayed everything, stopping only to confirm that the Psijic Order had called upon her and that she did, in fact, devastate an entire fort of Thalmor soldiers and wizards.  Nerussa attempted to hide her satisfaction at this, but her eyes betrayed her approval.  Elspeth also told her about Arcane University, the Purge, and of the possible connection between that and the Psijic Order’s interest in her.

“I have something for you,” Nerussa said eagerly when Elspeth finished speaking.  She unlocked a chest at the foot of the bed and brought out a sword.  “This was Bedyn’s first sword, Thornblade.  I recovered it in Chorrol before I escaped Cyrodill.”  She held it out to Elspeth, who took it from her and inspected it.

It was a one-handed sword with a textured hilt and an old knot pattern that started on the cross guard and ran all the way down to the sharpest point she had ever seen on a blade.  It’s enchantment was unusual, but after a few moments she was able to decipher it as one that could weaken materials such as steel, leather, ebony and so forth—good for disintegrating an enemy’s armor.

“Xeri and I presented that to Bedyn on his 15th name day,” Nerussa explained.  “It’s been in your family for over 200 years, but no one wielded it before he did.  Count Indarys of Cheydinhal gave it to Maeve Sigeweald after she rescued his son from an Oblivion gate.  However, she preferred a glass claymore she enchanted and took to calling Oberon.  Later, when your father joined the Blades, he acquired an Akavari blade that your mother enchanted for him.  But Thornblade saw him through many fighter’s guild tasks.”

“Why didn’t anyone else use it?” she asked.

Nerussa sighed and shook her head.  “Because until Bedyn came along, the Sigewealds took a turn from the path of the warrior and followed that of wealth and gluttony.  And madness,” she added.  “They kept the surname, because of Maeve’s fame.  But only Bedyn earned it, thanks to your grandmother and Xeri.”  She smiled and squeezed Elspeth’s arm.  “And by the looks of it, I expect you will bring great honor to your family’s name as well.”

“Not if no one knows it,” said Trygve who seemed to be growing annoyed and impatient.

“Trygve!” said Nerussa.  “Your father knew that I had once been in the service of the Sigewealds and I do apologize for not informing you sooner.”  She looked at him harshly until he backed down, nodding in concession.

Elspeth cocked her head and looked at Nerussa some more.  She assumed that meeting her would inspire curiosity, but it hadn’t.  “You were my family’s steward for over two centuries.  I feel like I should have more questions but I don’t, I just….” Her voice trailed off.

“I have no doubt that between your parents and Xeri, you are well informed,” she replied.  “Quite honestly, between Maeve and Bedyn, there really isn’t much to tell.”  She studied Elspeth some more.  “You look so much like him, it’s simply astonishing.”

“It’s as if my mother wasn’t involved at all,” she replied, parroting the sentiment that was expressed loudly and often among the mages in Frostcraig Village when she was a girl.

Nerussa smiled warmly at her.  “Tell me Elspeth, are you at all stubborn?”

Elspeth wrinkled her brow while Lydia sat up abruptly.  “Yes!” she exclaimed.

“That’s Evangeline.”  Nerussa smirked as stood up and rubbed her hands together.   “This is it,” she said, her voice shaking with excited anticipation.  “Everything is coming together.  I’ve been waiting for this for years.  I had just about given up hope and now…now you’re here.”

“Are you a visionary too?” asked Elspeth, wondering if perhaps Xeri’s visions were shared.  Runa had always said they were  _incomplete_  as if they were bits and pieces of a larger picture being dropped into the Dunmer’s head at the whim of some greater force.  She speculated that was perhaps this is why they were always difficult to decipher.

“Oh no, dear,” she said and then paused for a moment.  “I’m more of a historian.  Who has visions?”

“When I was born and throughout my childhood, Xeri had them,” she explained.

Nerussa’s face fell upon hearing this information and she pursed her lips.  “What manner of gods would give Xeri Tharys a vision?” she bellowed, causing Elspeth to snicker at Lydia.  After several moments, however, Nerussa calmed down and asked, “What sort of visions did she have?”

Elspeth looked up at her and replied, “She never could or, for that matter, would explain it very well.  All she ever told me was that I was supposed to do something to help the Empire and that I should somehow follow my father.  That’s why I left Frostcraig Village and why I was sent to find you.”

The Altmer’s face brightened again.  “I think perhaps I am not giving your mentor enough credit.”  She paused and scanned the room intently, as if taking some sort of inventory.  “All right,” she said finally, “I’ve got a plan—”

“Xeri says we’re to take you back to Whiterun and send for her,” interrupted Elspeth.

Nerussa shook her head.  “No,” she replied.  “We must separate.  I will take Iona with me to Bruma and find Xeri.  Trygve, you will stay with Elspeth and Lydia—I think Whiterun is the safest—”

“Wait, what?” interjected Lydia as she stood up suddenly.  “I don’t think it is necessary for Trygve to come back to Whiterun with us.”  The notion of spending any more time with the taciturn Nord made her stomach turn.

“I’m sorry Lydia,” said Nerussa.  “But I feel your emotional attachment to Elspeth has compromised your ability to protect her.   And if it hasn’t, it will,” she explained.  Her tone was not intended to be cruel, simply straightforward.  Nevertheless, Lydia balked and her face looked as if it would break.  It was clear that Nerussa had hurt Lydia’s feelings terribly.

“Hey!” said Elspeth defensively, “Lydia is an excellent housecarl.  And I can take care of myself.”

“Indeed,” said Trygve sardonically.  “You did a great job dodging my arrow.”

“All right!” said Nerussa.  “Iona, what should she have done?”

“Well, the arrow was unavoidable.  Trygve never misses and no one can hear him,” she replied smugly.  “But her response was appalling.   She dove into the satchel and she should have kept her head up, bringing the bottles up to her face as needed while her axe arm was kept ready.”

Lydia bit her lip and looked down, her face red with shame and embarrassment.  She was loath to admit it, but they weren’t wrong.

“And yet, I live,” said Elspeth, who wanted to slap the look of self-satisfaction right off Iona’s face.

“You’ve been lucky,” said Trygve as he scowled at her.

“That’s right!” shouted Elspeth.  “And until you survive a Thalmor purge and a dragon attack, you don’t get to dismiss luck.”

“That’s enough!” said Nerussa.  “I don’t doubt that Lydia is capable.  But this is important.  You have no idea what the Thalmor will do to Elspeth if they discover she’s a Sigeweald.”  She paused and swallowed against the raw tension rising in her throat.  “No idea.”  She walked over and took Trygve’s hand in hers.  “Trygve, you swore to Birkir that you would protect me.  Now I need you to dedicate yourself to her protection.”

“Of course,” he replied, nodding in deference.  “To my father I made a promise.  And that was to serve as well as protect.  If this is what is needed, it is what I will do.”  He looked back toward Lydia who was rolling her eyes at him.  “Whiterun is ideal,” he agreed, ignoring her obvious disdain.  “It’s central location is an advantage and my cousin is a guard there.”

“Who is your cousin?” asked Lydia.

“Toki,” he replied.

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed, as if this were the most inconceivable thing she had ever heard.   Toki liked drinking songs and taffy treats; how he could possibly be related to this humorless prat was beyond her.

Trygve went to protest but was interrupted by Nerussa. “Again, that’s enough,” she said as she turned away from the bickering Nords.  “Elspeth Sigeweald,” she said, returning her gaze to Elspeth.   Elspeth turned and looked up, her face betraying the feeling of strangeness she felt at hearing her name.  “That sounds odd to you doesn’t it?  Have either of you told anyone in Skyrim?” The women shook their heads.

“Good,” said Nerussa.  “Elspeth, you need to stop thinking of Elspeth Aurilie as a false name.   You need to kill any notion of Elspeth Sigeweald and live as though she doesn’t and has never existed.  That means no one outside of this room is to know.  No friends, no lovers, not even the Psijics.  No one.   And this is not just for your safety but also for theirs.  Do you understand me?”

Elspeth swallowed nervously and whispered, “Yes.”  Although she agreed to it, this promise cut into her gut.  She had hoped with everything she had that finding Nerussa would mean she wouldn’t have to be so guarded and secretive around Onmund and now it seemed that she had to be even more so.

“It won’t be forever,” Nerussa said, sensing her distress.  “Now, all of you listen,” she continued.  “This is not just a secret you would die for.  It is one that you would kill for.”

“Aren’t we starting to get a little dramatic?” asked Lydia.

Elspeth braced herself for a harsh response, but Nerussa remained calm and looked thoughtful for a moment before she responded.  “Although I will never understand why the gods chose her, I do not think we can underestimate the importance of Xeri’s vision.  We need to have a little faith, I think.  And really, I think it’s best to overestimate the Thalmor, than not—don’t you?”  She looked across the room at the group, who simply nodded in unison.

“Stay in Whiterun until the Psijics call you,” she instructed.“I’ve never heard of this Ancano and while I trust Savos to keep an eye on him, if he’s Thalmor, he’s dangerous.”

With this Nerussa, Trygve, and Iona gathered provisions and prepared for their respective journeys.  Trygve agreed to close up the house in the woods and use Honeyside should any business in the Rift arise.  When Elspeth’s strength was fully recovered and all supplies were replenished, they left.  Before they parted ways, however, the Altmer put her arm around Elspeth’s shoulders.  “It pains me to leave you so soon, but gods willing, I will be in your service in the future.”

Trygve travelled exclusively by horse and although Lydia was reluctant to indulge him, she agreed that it was time for them to acquire a steed.  At Riften stables, they chose a sturdy dapple-grey horse with white markings that she refused to ride until Elspeth named him.  It was clear that this was merely an attempt to get under Trygve’s skin, and not some Nord equestrian tradition and Elspeth quickly named the horse Pickles so they could leave.

They finally departed for Whiterun just after noon, stopping only once to camp and rest.  The journey was initially characterized by tension that seemed to lessen only as their weariness grew.  However, Lydia and Trygve achieved détente—at least temporarily—when the three of them quickly put down a pack of bandits they confronted on the road.  Lydia couldn’t deny that he was the best archer she had ever seen.  He never missed, and his snatch and fire was a single continuous motion like that of a Bosmer.  And more than once, Elspeth caught him raising his eyes in admiration of Lydia’s strength and control in melee combat.

It was just after sundown when they arrived in Whiterun.  They stabled the horses and as they approached the gate, Elspeth looked into the sky.  The moons were dark, which meant that Onmund would be in Breezehome or at the Bannered Mare, rather than the lunar forge.  This settled the unease she felt as she reflected on the end of her task.  She had done as she had been instructed, but rather than Nerussa, the Altmer steward who had overseen her family’s affairs for over two centuries, they’d returned to Whiterun with a high-minded and serious Nord—a veritable stranger—who was suddenly dedicated to her safety and well-being.

The notion filled her with a level of uncertainty that rivaled those moments during her adolescence when training was lonely and never ending and seemingly without purpose.

She was pondering this as Lydia put her arm around her shoulder.  “We’re home,” she said.  “And this time we might get to stay a while.  Or not…as these things go.”

 _Home._   A slight smile escaped Elspeth’s lips.  The uncertainty she felt was giving way to a realization.  In Cyrodill her life was an endless series of repetitive events interrupted by tragedy.  In Skyrim, it was unpredictable with the possibility of upheaval and disaster around every corner.   Yet she had found friendship and intimacy unlike any she had experienced before.  Her deeds of late had brought her despair and guilt, but also a sense of accomplishment and pride.

Cyrodill was a place where she once lived.  Skyrim was home.  Whatever happened next…at least she had that.

 

_Fin._

_(but not really)_


End file.
